


My Kingdom for a Kiss

by Kantayra of Yore (Kantayra)



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2004-06-01
Updated: 2004-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-19 07:16:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra%20of%20Yore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fourteen years ago, Illyria and her army rose and conquered the world. Now, with her victory seemingly complete, her attentions turn to her pet in an effort to alleviate her growing desire for the half-breed. But, as her feelings continue to grow, she finds herself torn between her duties as goddess and her heart. Especially since Spike himself is chief among those who wish to dispose of her Kingdom... Abandoned WIP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, this story is...weird. The basic premise is that Illyria's army was still there when she visited her temple in 'Shells'. She took over the world, captured Spike as her pet, and killed pretty much everyone else. Oh, and instead of Wes killing Knox, Knox killed Wesley. So Knox is still around. Also, Illyria never lost her temporal powers in 'Time Bomb' because of events that I'll reveal as the story goes on. And Spike gratuitously lost his soul for no other reason than I don't like his soul.
> 
> Just to clarify commonly used terms:
> 
> Mi'yik = pet.  
> En U'Eliq = consort/favored concubine.  
> Qwa'ha Xahn = high priest (and it's from the show so I expect everyone to know this :P).  
> Vahla Ha'nesh = temple (also from the show).

_From ‘A General History of The New Age Of Illyria’, Chapter 6..._

The last Slayer army, under the command of Rona Blair, was finally located outside Old Cleveland. The infamous Battle of Edgewater followed (See Insert on Page 79), the most violent incursion against Illyria’s Kingdom since the Great Slayer Revolt of 2004. Ground fighting began on the 7th of October 2018 and quickly degenerated into the bloody guerilla tactics so characteristic of the terrorist group. Over 4000 soldiers of the Imperial Army were killed before General Xaneth bombarded the war-zone with temporal shells. In the aftermath, the remainder of the rebellion, including the leader, Blair, were captured and official victory was declared upon the 13th of October 2018, the first annual V’n Hara Day.

An imperial court was established in Illea. Blair and the other insurgent leaders were each sentenced to death, while the guerilla soldiers were imprisoned in the Great Void. This first trial based upon the old human system was considered a revolutionary idea at the time and did much to repair the strained relationship between the vaalian troops of Illyria’s personal guard and their human subjects. The Illean Trials are often viewed as the end of the vaalian/human schism in the New Kingdom, although decades of further discrimination followed.

Her New Kingdom intact, Illyria turned the Illean Court to the inter-dimensional incursion by Kirazi of Marendon for the first time. While the Marendons had been instrumental in providing arms to the Slayer terrorist organizations, Kirazi didn’t openly seek war with Illyria until after the Illean Trials. In keeping with the typical Marendon tradition of inciting betrayal and riots, Kirazi sought his newest allies within Illyria’s own Court. His attempts to overthrow the governing body were timed perfectly with the first reorganization the Court had seen since its founding in 2006. Xaneth’s triumph in the Battle of Edgewater earned him the position of Ki’yaal Weri, replacing the old conservative General Telin. Only weeks afterwards, Illyria added the duties of En U’Eliq to her former Mi’yik, Spike, a former insurgent himself, placing a half-breed on the Imperial Court for the first time in history. Such moves created great turmoil within the Court, especially from Illyria’s then Qwa’ha Xahn, Knox Webster. During a period of deceptive peace, the Imperial Court itself became a political battleground, with Kirazi’s army waiting in the background for Illyria’s downfall…


	2. Fair, My Concubine

“The gateway to the Marendon Kingdom appears to be closed for now,” General Xaneth announced solemnly. “However, I don’t trust Kirazi to hold back for long. He wants this Kingdom.”

Illyria cast him a sideways glance as they walked side-by-side through the great halls of Palace Illea. Patterned floors of burgundy and white marble sounded with the echoes of powerful footsteps as the Queen and her two top advisors made their way back from the temple of Vahla Ha’nesh. Above them, great pillars and arches rose well over one hundred feet to form the tapestry of architectural splendor so indicative of Illyria’s Old Kingdom. Once, her body would’ve been nearly as tall as the corridor. But, despite her recent diminutive size, she still had divine purpose in her steps.

“Kirazi fears my might,” she commented matter-of-factly. “His warriors weaken under this world’s atmosphere, while mine remain strong as ever.”

“He could look for allies within this plane,” Xaneth retorted.

Illyria considered that for a moment. “You suspect the half-breeds? I have given them most generous hunting lands. I have made one of their own my Mi’yik. It serves them no advantage to betray me.”

“I wasn’t,” Xaneth clarified with a little scowl, “referring wholly to outside threats.”

Illyria’s brow quirked at that, but it was the third Court Member present who responded.

“I hardly think any member of the Court would betray Our Lady,” Knox countered, craning his neck back to look up into the face of the seven-foot vaalian.

Even after all the years working as Illyria’s high priest, he still hadn’t accustomed himself to the odd appearance of the ancient army. Pale silver metallic-looking skin, eyeballs uniformly blue so that they looked like lapis marbles, and three-clawed hands just began the catalogue of inhumanity about the soldier race. And, had their original bodies remained intact, rather than necessitating that the vaalians use similar parasitic forms as Illyria had herself, they undoubtedly would have appeared even more alien to his eyes, completely void of all human form.

Knox considered it somewhat odd that, while he’d been the one to guide Illyria to her army and raise it to victory over the humans’ champions, he sometimes regretted no longer being surrounded by his own kind. Few humans aside from himself had seen the True Light and worshipped Illyria as the divinity come to earth to save them from mortal chaos. He was the only human member of the High Court, and he could name each human in the palace staff from memory. Strange, the things one missed, even when the world had finally been brought into perfect harmony…

“Not all members of the Court are here willingly,” Xaneth pointed out.

Knox frowned at that, surprised to find that he and the reformist vaalian agreed on _anything_. “Now might be a good time to cleanse the Court of all non-believers,” he provided hopefully.

Illyria came to an abrupt stop at that. “Your opinion on this matter has been noted in the past,” she said coldly. “My choice of Mi’yik is not open to debate.”

Knox hastily raised his hands in apology. “Just a suggestion,” he insisted with a wry laugh.

“You will make no further ‘suggestions’,” Illyria informed him curtly before heading off down the hallway once more, definite purpose in her stride.

“It’s just...” Knox began hesitantly. “May I speak freely?”

Illyria sighed. “If you must,” she conceded reluctantly, turning down the final corridor.

Knox winced when he realized where she was heading. “He’s dangerous to keep around,” he insisted. “He’s made it more than clear every day for the past fourteen years that he’ll kill you and overthrow the New Kingdom the first chance he gets.”

“He will be given no chance,” Illyria insisted stubbornly.

Knox let out a frustrated exclamation, hands running through his unruly curls as he tried to summon patience once more. “I just don’t see why you insist on keeping that half-breed as a pet!” he finally said in exasperation.

“He amuses me.” Illyria came to a halt before the massive marble door at the end of the hallway. Cut into the sheer white stone were a series of deep midnight glyphs. A writing so old, humans had not even dreamed of its existence. Until her resurrected army returned to this dimension and reestablished it, that is.

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s a load of laughs,” Knox replied skeptically. “But we’re in a precarious position here. The Imperial Church isn’t catching on with the humans – let alone the half-breeds – and your own Mi’yik mocking your divinity isn’t helping matters.”

“The Church is secondary to my dominion,” Illyria insisted. “I will not sacrifice my pet to ease your office.”

Knox frowned. “But—”

“The matter is closed for discussion.” Blue fingernails tapped out a pattern in the glyphs, and slowly the magical bindings that locked the door moved. Like silver-spun snakes wound together, they slithered apart, allowing her access to the room beyond. She caressed the ancient metal absentmindedly, noting the sensation. She always wore her body armor outside the palace, but within she allowed the light burgundy robes of the goddess of Vahla Ha’nesh. The greatest advantage of the lighter wardrobe was this ability to savor more sensations.

Knox bit back the snide remark at the tip of his tongue. _Fourteen years of invaluable service, and I get blown off for one of the damn vampires that tried to stop her ascension in the first place. Where’s the respect? When do I get my repayment for my eternal devotion? Well, aside from the whole forever-young immortality bit…_

“Leave me now,” Illyria instructed him, inclining her head to indicate that Xaneth was subject to this command as well. “I will see my pet alone.”

Xaneth pressed his palms together in the vaalian equivalent to a salute and turned off down the corridor. Knox, more reluctantly, nodded and sulked away.

Illyria sighed as she watched them go. She didn’t recall ruling being so tiring during her Old Kingdom. Perhaps it was the complex chaos created by the human, vaalian, and vampire factions. Or maybe her human shell just felt the weariness more intensely. Despite the spells Knox had cast upon her after her rebirth, she was still not at her full majesty. At least her Qwa’ha Xahn’s efforts had kept her from losing her powers, however. She shuddered to imagine what could’ve happened had this shell’s limited form banished the true extent of her being. A divinity trapped in a meager human form… Terrifying.

The massive white door opened at her final approach, and she spared one small moment of lament for the fact that her body had not survived in the pocket dimension of Vahla Ha’nesh as her army had. Oh, the vaalians had tried to preserve her old shell, but millennia of hardship had forced her army to choose between survival and preservation of her statue. Given the options, Illyria preferred the choice they had made.

“So nice of you to knock,” a sarcastic voice greeted her.

A small smile twitched at the corners of her lips as she caught sight of her pet. He had, apparently, just come out of the shower and wore nothing but the white towel about his waist, his skin and hair still damp from the hot water. _Perhaps my change of form was a blessing in disguise…_

“I do not knock,” she informed him imperiously.

“No really?” Spike retorted with a roll of his eyes. “Hadn’t noticed, what with you bargin’ in here at all god-awful hours of the day.” He made an expansive gesture to the room around them.

As tall and airy as the corridor, his prison was made of the same fine white stone that composed the rest of the palace. His furnishings seemed small and out of place where they were positioned in the direct center of the expansive room. A circular carpet of a deep navy blue a little over twenty-feet in diameter was ringed by two dressers, a desk, several trunks, and – rather incongruously with the ancient décor – a large television set. The large, four-poster bed took up the center of the carpet, fitted with sheets a rich crimson color. All in all, the furnishings took up scarcely a tenth of the floor space. Around it, vast white-tiled expanse stretched out to form an oval room approximately eighty-feet wide.

Frankly, all the empty space made Spike edgy so, aside from his trips to the adjoining bathroom, he never left the little nest of humanity he’d set up for himself at the center. Turning pointedly away from his ‘visitor’, he approached one of the dressers to find something to wear. If he didn’t get dressed and fast, Her Conceited Holiness was liable to drag him off to some torture or other stark naked.

Illyria watched him as he tossed the towel onto the dresser top, her head cocked curiously to one side as she observed the unusual phenomenon within her. It had begun years ago, although not even she had been aware of it. At first, she had just thought it another game to play with her pet, strip him down and expose him. Watch the irritation shake through his body and amuse herself with her complete dominion over him.

More recently, she’d discovered it was something more, however. Perhaps the revelation had come three months prior when, on a whim, she’d slipped through the fabric of existence to watch him play with that evening’s dinner. Unseen, she had watched him and his meal. The human girl had been frightened at first, but he had calmed her, apologized even. Illyria had just determined that the entire proceedings would, in fact, be quite dull when the mortal girl had chosen to press her lips to those of Illyria’s Mi’yik.

For some reason, that contact had fascinated her. She’d watched, entranced, as the two lower beings slowly drew closer. Clothing had fallen from their bodies, and for the first time she’d seen the poetry in this human form. She’d approached the bed, stood at the headboard as the couple tangled together on the sheets and copulated.

The rhythmic flexing of muscles, both hard and soft, as her pet had pumped himself within the human woman’s body. She’d leaned in close, watched as his masculine appendage entered and exited the other’s womb. She’d observed his face as it twisted with pleasure, saw him go slack and fall.

He’d bitten the human, then, drained her when she was so overcome with bliss that she couldn’t feel the pain. Yet another little way he’d found to defy Illyria. Not even his willpower had been enough to fight the hunger – at least, after she’d removed the metaphysical implant that had been inserted into his psyche – but he’d never once given her the brutal blood-sport she’d hoped for from him when she’d first made him her pet.

But, instead of anger, she’d felt…intrigued. She’d seen the union of the two mortal bodies, knew that it was no more than meat and slime, and yet she’d found herself desirous, perhaps even envious of the human.

It was perverse and disgusting, she knew, but she’d become used to the disgust over the years. In her Old Kingdom, she’d kept a harem of concubines to satiate her body’s unfortunate lusts. The urge hadn’t abated now that she was reborn. In fact, this human form seemed to require more sensual pleasure. And, trapped in this shell, she’d had no choice but to take concubines of similar form. It had repulsed her at first. Her old form had been so much…neater. But, now, it was merely a necessary evil.

Desire was a weakness; it was best to remove it as swiftly as possible.

She hadn’t attended her pet for quite some time after that first incident, and instead turned to her harem to slake her lust. Yet, when she’d rested, her desires had grown anew, and always that impudent expression her pet wore flashed into her mind.

Eventually, she’d been forced to face the inevitable. She wanted to fornicate with him and, for some strange reason, with him alone. Some human instincts that remained within her body puzzled her, but none more so than this one. But she’d learned that her power increased when she moved with the flow of these instincts, rather than struggled against them.

So she’d watched him and encouraged him to take lovers so she could witness his coupling. Subtly, of course, since she’d long since learned that the surest way to find rebellion within him was to place dictates upon him. Insolent, stubborn creature…

“Earth to the Planet Krypton,” his snide remark cut off her speculations which, in truth, had only taken but a few of his seconds. “You just addin’ to the ambience, or was there something ‘d probably rather not know about?”

Illyria looked at him, standing defiantly by the dresser, a pair of those black jeans he insisted upon wearing in one hand. And, for the first time, she let herself truly think the word that had been skating around the edge of her consciousness for so long: _Beautiful…_

And, like all beauty, transitory. Before he could cover himself with the mediocre garment, she raised one hand, froze him in place. _Quite lovely, in his alien way_ , she decided, approaching with steps a bit quicker than usual.

The two of them had engaged in combat often enough over the fourteen years he’d been held prisoner to her Court, and he’d adapted frighteningly quickly. Slowing the temporal matrix around him was still the most effective technique against him, but he’d developed the ability to see through the illusion over the years. Which, really, was all time ever had been. A mental shift once he realized that she’d tried to freeze him, and she’d been met with many an unsuspecting surprise.

It did often take quite a pause for him to realize she’d slowed time, however. It gave her a few moments to explore…

One delicate hand – still fascinating to her, even though she’d occupied this shell for years – slowly rose to trace the angle of his cheek. She’d felt his skin before, she was sure, but she’d never bothered to take notice. He was cool, cooler than her own flesh which, she knew, was still cooler than it had been when the human had lived in this body. Yet, despite his coolness, a tingle seemed to run down her fingers. The beginning of that strange phenomenon that occurred whenever she was near him for long.

She abandoned his cheek for his chest, studied his smooth muscular curves with her fingertips. She’d become a fair judge of human standards of beauty over the last decade and a half, and she knew him to be an exemplary specimen. But knowledge of that fact should not be causing her body to heat up, making her desire to touch more…

She circled him, hands trailing over his body as she did so. His back was harder, but the skin was still amazingly soft. Smooth and pale. He matched her palace, she realized. White and perfect. Her hands moved lower, cupped the slight swell of his behind, before slowly moving forward once more. She pressed her body against his back, smelled the soft soapy scent of his skin – one of the few smells in this new human world that was palatable to her. The half-breed scent was far from vile in comparison to human. And he, in particular, smelled really quite lovely. This shell was obviously slowly altering her perceptions of the world, she knew, but it was necessary for her to rule in this new age, and she accepted it.

 _This will suffice quite nicely_ , she thought, fingertips trailing down the sharp lines of his hipbone now, moving ever downward…

“Bloody hell!” With a sharp jolt to the side, Spike suddenly snapped back into motion, catching himself on the dresser as he stumbled away from her. Angry blue eyes narrowed to slits and flashed gold as he turned to look at her again. “This your latest game?” he growled, hastily jerking on his jeans.

Illyria felt a brief pang of disappointment, but she didn’t dwell on it. Mortals had regrets; she was Illyria, and anything she desired was hers for the taking.

“No game,” she informed him, head cocked to one side as she watched him finish dressing. “I will touch you whenever I please.”

“Addin’ molestation to your party list now?” he retorted snidely, shrugging on his duster. One of the few original possessions he had from…before.

“I promote you,” she corrected.

He looked at her skeptically. “From what? Trained puppy to cabana boy?”

Illyria frowned, not following his references. It didn’t matter, however. “You are now my En U’Eliq,” she stated. “Your services as Mi’yik have ended.”

Spike blinked at her slowly. “You’re…” He shook his head, unable to believe his ears. “What?” he finally exclaimed in disbelief.

“You are En U’Eliq,” she repeated. “You will serve me.”

He snorted in distaste. “Won’t do a damn bloody thing you tell me to, bluet,” he hissed, turning his back on her and stalking away.

She frowned. She had an unfortunate tendency to forget that direct orders often had the exact opposite effect on him. It was not a mistake she ever made except within his presence. His form was…distracting. Infuriating, to be true, and often to the point where she abandoned rationality for violence. But this new desire she felt for him had just exacerbated the problem.

“You should be honored,” she insisted. “All others would sacrifice their lives for what you are being given freely.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, ‘m not ‘all others’,” he countered sullenly. “And what on earth makes to think that after watchin’ you slaughter everything ‘ve ever cared about that I’d _ever_ want anything from you?” He stalked off to the only escape he could find, that of his balcony.

The structure was white like the rest of the palace, the rails carved in the pattern of twined vines. They didn’t look like anything alive, though. To him, they always appeared to be cold bones, bent and warped in a gross parody of elegance. But given that he was, he would estimate, about ninety stories up and his door was always kept locked by magics far beyond him, he didn’t have any other place to go.

Illyria, never one to accept that the world didn’t bend backward to her wishes, followed after him. “My word is final,” she said sternly. Now that he’d turned contrary, persistence was the only hope she had of getting him to comply. After all, it had eventually worked when she’d forced him to feed off of her prisoners of war as any _proper_ pet would’ve done gladly in service to his mistress.

He snorted derisively, looking out into the distance and the massive alien city she’d built in the place of the Los Angeles he’d once known. The sun shone down on him, but even that had changed after her big war with Wolf, Ram, and Heart. The vampires had turned against the former law-firm in a surprise move, and she’d rewarded her newest allies by granting them the day. Apparently, shifting the old sun into another dimension and swiping this sun for earth was child’s play to her mages.

There was a very good reason the white hats had been crushed to dust at her feet. And, lucky him, got to watch it all, too insistent that he could still make a difference to ever kill himself. Even after all this time, when all hope had long left him. He still didn’t believe Illyria was forever, but he conceded there wasn’t a damn thing he could do, locked up in here like some helpless damsel.

She stood beside him, blue-and-brown hair blowing in the wind, studying his face intently. “I have given you the day. You enjoy that. You shall enjoy this, as well.”

He frowned, still looking off into the distance so that he didn’t have to see her. “’ve seen how you treat your U’Eliques,” he retorted.

“They are mere concubines,” she explained, pleased to have found an argument she could win easily. “They serve me and are disposed of. My chief concubine – my consort – would be revered, powerful, a force to be reckoned with.”

He turned his head sharply to look at her then. “You know ‘ll stab you in the back first chance I get. Been waitin’ fourteen years to give you yours, bluet. Developed a sudden death-wish, have we?”

“You are my En U’Eliq,” she repeated simply, intense blue eyes never leaving his face.

“Givin’ me hope that ‘ll finally have the power to take you out, but ‘ve got to play the part of your prime lay in the meantime?” he inquired.

She assessed his words, finally found the proper meaning behind his colloquialisms. “Accurate.”

He grinned and leaned in, and for a moment her body heated up at his nearness. A wave of lust stronger than she’d ever felt before passed through her, and she savored the anticipation of her sweet victory.

He breathed deep against her cheek, taking in her almost non-existent scent and holding it. Tiny visual cues like the darkening of her eyes and the quickened rote rhythm of her breathing were all that told him she was excited, and he found that knowledge most interesting. _Know thy enemy…_

Her lips parted in something short of a gasp at his nearness, and a moment of almost panic swept through her. She’d thought to satiate her desires with his body. But she would still be Illyria, powerful and always the master. She hadn’t anticipated that her reaction would be this strong, that she’d feel her precious control slipping from her, desperate for him…

He smirked slowly, looked up at her from under lowered lashes in a coy manner that she found quite stimulating. He leaned into her once more, and this time she leaned with him, took in a sharp intake of breath as his lips brushed her ear.

“Bugger. That.”

He pulled away with a snarl, and an exclamation of pure outrage escaped her lips. Blinded by her anger, she swung out at him wildly. He leapt back gracefully, smiling wickedly at her all the while.

“Y-You dare?” she seethed, coming at him once more with a series of punches and high kicks.

One blow glanced across the side of his face, but it didn’t knock him down. Rather, his own fist returned her punch, catching her squarely under the jaw. “You think I would ever touch you?” he retorted coldly.

Illyria’s head snapped back, and she took two steps away from him to center herself. “Impudent, _vile_ pet,” she hissed, striking out again. This time her heel caught him squarely in the center of the chest, and the blow knocked him through the balcony doors and back inside his room.

He slid across the floor for several feet, before coming to a halt in a huddled mass in the center of the great white expanse.

Illyria’s foot came down on his head, pinning him in place before he could get up. “Obey me.”

He just chuckled. “A bit harder to rape when you need me excited to get what you want,” he shot back. Which, in a sense, was true. He _could_ keep himself from getting aroused if he wanted to. He just hadn’t wanted much in the past. But he’d jump off that balcony before he let himself be turned into her cheap whore.

Her hands clenched into fists. “I should crush you where you lie, half-breed.”

“Go ahead, then,” he countered, unconcerned. “’d rather be in hell with Angelus than here with you.”

His words shouldn’t have had the power to harm her, yet they did. She had seen the looks of other men – vaalians, humans, and half-breeds – and they had been appreciative of her form. Why, then, should this mortal not want what hundreds of others had desired? Especially when…

She considered it. Perhaps, the key was in his words, after all. “You deny me because I slew your king?” she inquired.

“Let’s see,” he retorted sarcastically. “Yeah, there’s a good reason. Another would be Charlie, Wesley. Fred, of course.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “Buffy…”

The last name had never invoked rage in her before. Now, she felt it threaten to boil over within her, and she could not comprehend why. She breathed deeply to fight down the emotions, and spoke calmly once more. “Your Slayer is dead. She cannot share your bed; I can.”

“No,” he retorted smugly, “it seems you can’t.”

The urge to grind her heel into his spine and be done with him was almost overwhelming then. But something – perhaps that same indefinable something that had kept her from disposing of him all along – stopped her.

He was a bit surprised and more than a little relieved when she released him. Scrambling to his feet before she could change her mind, he looked at her with narrowed eyes. “You can kill me,” he informed her in a low hiss, “but you can never make me fuck you. I’ll die first.”

“That can be arranged,” she countered, but he was already walking away from her, retreating back to the bathroom most likely to tend to his wounds. A part of her wanted to go to him and press her point, but a greater part realized that this would not be so easy as she had hoped. It would take time, persistence… The twisting knot of desire in her belly didn’t like that, but she saw no alternative at that moment. “Refuse me or no,” she announced in parting, “you are my En U’Eliq.”

The door opened before her might, and then she was gone.

And Spike just breathed a long sigh of relief and swore under his breath. He fought back the primal scream of pain that had pushed at his consciousness since he’d first been captured and those he loved lost… But, as always, he was stronger. Better. And he would defeat the agony.

Just as he would defeat the pushy wanna-be goddess who’d suddenly decided she had her knickers in a twist over him.

“Bugger.”


	3. Vibrant Blue, Silent Green

The problem with Illyria, and her often bizarre demands, was that Spike could never tell whether it was a spur of the moment whim or a long-standing thing. The usual boredom of his captivity just made things ten times worse. It had been a week now since he’d seen hide or hair of the Blue Bitch. Once, he would’ve considered that encouraging and stopped fussing. But he’d slowly come to realize over the years that Illyria didn’t exactly function in normal linear time. She had a tendency to pop up a month later and act like it had been only two minutes since their last conversation.

It was right unnerving.

With little else to do for the last decade or so, Spike had developed himself a little routine. Got up when the sun started descending – even though he could walk in the sunlight now, he still found himself very much a creature of the night – took a quick shower, usually a quick wank, too, had a bit of fun beating on an old bag of rags, kept himself in shape a little, watched the telly, played a video game or two, and plotted how to get out of this hellhole.

None of the plots had materialized into anything for quite a while now, and they were getting ever more fanciful in nature, but they gave him something to occupy his mind. He supposed he _could_ try to convince Her Holiness to get him a few more books, but given her, er… _unique_ demand the last time she’d been in, he was afraid to push his luck.

The television show that was the least aggravating right now was one of those lame reality things. One team of vaalians, one of vampires, jumping through hoops and the like. Plus, all the women inexplicably wore nothing but thong bikinis. It was at least moderately entertaining. Amusing, too. After all, the more things changed…

During a commercial for hornpaste – “The demons aren’t overlords, simply a new marketing opportunity,” one human CEO had put it very nicely – Spike felt a tingle in the air behind him. He froze in place for a second, shook his head, and turned around.

“Have fun dimension hop—Oh damn,” he swore when he turned and saw her. She’d brought the bloody fern with her.

Illyria ignored him and set the potted plant down at the edge of the circle of carpeting that made up his limited habitation. Whispers and cadences of life flowed through her veins, and she couldn’t help but smile. The secrets of the world itself buried in the ebb and flow of the Green, and not even her most trusted advisors could hear their call…

“Right, then,” Spike watched her stare dazedly at the large fern that now rested by his old black truck. He shook his head. Not bad enough they’d picked up some holier-than-thou demon goddess. Oh no, they had to get one who was completely off her rocker, as well. “Much as ‘d love to leave the two of you alone…” he trailed off.

Illyria’s attention turned to him, then, for the first time. She studied his attire with some disappointment. “You are clothed.”

Great. Apparently, she still had it in mind to make him her cheap blow-up doll. “Damn straight,” he agreed, getting carefully off the bed. In truth, he’d stopped running around naked simply because she might sneak up on him like this. Funny how his nudity hadn’t bothered him _before_ she’d made her little proposition. But this was definitely the sort of thing not to be encouraged. “Just for you, too, bluet.”

She cocked her head to one side, looking at him so intently he began to wonder if she had x-ray vision. “I offer you my bed,” she stated simply.

It was almost disappointing, really. All that fuss and worry, and she was just as direct as always. The way nothing changed around this place was enough to make Spike yank his hair out. “’m gonna run out of new and creative ways to say no if you keep on like this,” he retorted, snatching up his packet of cigarettes from the nightstand and lighting one up.

“I anticipated your refusal.”

“Bully on you, then.” He took a deep breath of smoke into his dead lungs. Not enough to ease his pain, but it calmed his nerves for the time being.

“You react with hostility, as always,” she commented, frowning. “But now with fear as well.”

He glared at her, turned away, and stalked over to the television. Flicking it off in an angry gesture, he breathed a little sigh of relief now that he couldn’t see her anymore. Even he hadn’t realized how much her words had put him on edge until this moment. “’ve never been afraid of you, luv,” he countered, “not even for a second.”

“Agreed.” As much as she’d wanted him to quake at her feet in those early years, he had always been so characteristically disappointing. Now, however… “But you fear me now,” she informed him, stepping closer. The impulse to reach out and touch the hair at the base of his skull was overwhelming, and her fingers brushed the soft locks curiously.

He leapt away from her, eyes flashing yellow as he spun to face her once more. “Don’t touch me,” he hissed, the revulsion in his voice plain even to her.

“If you will not share my bed,” she gave in to his stubbornness, but only for the moment, “you must remain here with my new Mi’yik.”

“Picked up some other hapless bloke to be your pet, then?” he grumbled with a roll of his eyes. This was safer territory. Imperious demands that pissed him off but didn’t do a damn thing in the long run. “Or, is this your way of tryin’ to trick me into performing state executions again?”

“My pet will not be harmed,” she informed him sternly. There was a hint of irony to this conversation, she realized. Years of ordering her officers to leave her Spike-pet alone, and now that he was an officer as well, his first instinct was to strike out at her new pet.

“Not much ‘f one for roomies, blue,” he pointed out, snubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray atop the television, “as ‘m sure you’ve noticed…”

She smiled at that. “You have known my Mi’yik for years. There will be no conflict.”

Spike’s scarred eyebrow rose at that, and when she turned away from him, he followed, mildly curious. “Who on—?” He froze when she approached the overgrown houseplant she’d just set up in his little living room. “You have got to be kidding me,” he exclaimed in stunned disbelief. “The _fern_?”

“The Green has served me loyally for years. I reward it with this honor,” she replied, the corner of her lips turned up in a wicked smile. For some reason, this half-breed had always had the greatest of difficulties dealing with her communion with the immobile intelligence in this world. He thought she was out of her mind. It had annoyed her at first. Now it amused her. Really, he was so simple to tease…

“OK, that’s it. You’ve completely lost it.” He stalked over to the balcony. “Better to make a Spike-shaped splat on the pavement than put up with your ravings any longer…”

She watched him go, a bemused smile on her face. “Your drama is entertaining.”

He turned back to scowl at her, then. He just knew she was laughing at him. Made him want to rip her ribcage out and play it like an accordion, it did. Unfortunately, all attempts to do exactly that usually ended up with his ass sweeping up the floor quite nicely.

“So nice to see you’ve given up on your deluded li’l fantasy,” he said instead.

Her expression turned cold at that. “You are my En U’Eliq,” she insisted.

“Really?” he snorted. “Funny. What with you runnin’ off for a week, and showin’ a bloke you’re good and not interested. Passing fancy, and all that.” And, oh, he would give almost anything in the world to hear her confirm his little theory.

Instead, she frowned. “I have not sated myself with you,” she corrected him. “You are stubborn. That does not change the fact that you shall become my consort.”

A shiver ran down his spine at that. It was never good when the Blue Holy got that confident tone in her voice. He’d heard it before, right before she was about to eviscerate someone. And, despite this little non-existence he had for himself here, he didn’t much like the idea of being dusted. Too ignominious an end, that.

But, then again, he’d always been one to face the inevitable. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days,” he said matter-of-factly.

Her expression softened at that, turned puzzled. She approached him, one hand reaching out to cup his cheek. She was surprised, but pleased, when he didn’t instantly pull away. The defiance in his eyes indicated all too clearly that he might do so at any second, however.

“I offer to share with you the closet experience to divinity these human bodies will ever know. How, when I grant you this, can you believe I still wish to harm you?”

“Because,” he caught her wrist, using all his strength to force her fingers back away from him, “you’ve established quite well that you don’t ever take no for an answer. ‘m just gonna keep givin’ it, so the only way out of this is for one of us to die. Given my prospects at the moment, you’ll forgive me for takin’ the pessimistic view.”

“You see yourself as a tragic knight,” she commented. “A prisoner while the war rages outside.”

“Innit that what I am?” he retorted ruefully.

She tilted her head to the left. “You brood. It is unattractive.”

He tensed for a second, then, a denial on his lips. But then the fist he’d formed relaxed. “Someone has to pick up the slack now that Peaches is gone, right?” he snarked.

She sighed at that. “You wear vengeance and regret as a second skin.”

“Damn right, I do,” he retorted, turning away from her to the television again. Maybe if he was as boring as possible, she’d just leave him in peace.

“As you like,” was her resigned reply. “However, it does not change that I have named you my En U’Eliq.”

Honestly, arguing this woman was like fighting a force of nature. Relentless and unyielding, like screaming into a hurricane. “Here’s an idea,” he suggested hopefully. “Why don’t you make ratboy your boy toy?”

She frowned.

“What’s his face? Filthy traitor…” He pretended to think. “Right. Knox. He’s been sniffin’ at your tail since day one.”

“My Qwa’ha Xahn?” she said in disbelief, a hint of a laugh in her tone.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Get past the lousy worm part, and he’s…” He trailed off in vain. OK, so he couldn’t think of a complimentary word for the man if his life depended upon it.

“I have made my choice,” she insisted. “Come. The High Council awaits us at Vahla Ha’nesh.”

He blinked in surprise at that, watched her open the door to his prison with the merest flick of her wrist. “Pardon?”

“The Council meets.” She turned back to face him.

“I got that part,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Since when do I get invited into your little clubhouse?”

“My En U’Eliq sits beside me at the Council,” she answered with a frown, as if puzzled he hadn’t realized this all along.

He let out a bark of laughter. “You have _got_ to be kidding me!” he exclaimed, chuckling at the very notion.

“I do not and am not.”

He managed to quiet his mirth at her serious expression, realization slowly dawning that she meant every word of it. “You _have_ lost it this time,” he insisted with a shake of his head. “You know ‘m gonna spill every detail to the Resistance first chance I get.”

“You will attempt to do so,” she agreed.

“Then why on earth are you invitin’ me?” he asked, puzzled.

“It is appropriate that my consort attend me.” She cocked her head to one side, extending one hand to him. “Come.”

He wavered on a moment of indecision, then. A part of him very much wanted to go with her and not just because he wanted to get out of this little cell of his for a while. The information he could glean from one of the top state meetings could provide the vital key to defeating the vaalian army.

On the other side, he sacrificed a little bit of his protest when he went with her. Pose as her consort to overthrow her Kingdom… It was a pretty little puzzle. He could almost admire the Machiavellian mind behind it.

“Thanks, but no thanks, luv.” He finally shook his head, taking a step back.

She frowned. “This is not a choice.”

“You can’t make me,” he retorted, wincing inwardly when he realized how childish that sounded.

With a resigned sigh, she approached him. “I can do exactly that. I can immobilize you, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you in triumphant victory into the Holy Temple.” Her lips quirked in a little smile as his eyes flashed daggers at her. “Or, if you would prefer, you can walk.”

Well, now. She sure had a way of putting a bloke’s pride on the line. And, in the end, his protests were a bit self-centered, weren’t they? The good of the many, yadda-yadda-yadda, William Shatner desperately needed a diet…

“I’ll walk.”

“Wise of you.” She couldn’t help but gloat in her brief moment of triumph.

Casting her an annoyed look, he strode past her and out the door like this had been his own idea from the very beginning. The hallway outside he recognized vaguely from the dozen or so times he’d managed to rush his way past various servants. He’d even spent a full hour once, running about the endless white corridors, trying to find the bloody way out. The place was a complete maze, of course.

Illyria offered her hand again, and this time he reluctantly accepted. Best to memorize the right way out, and get a bit of good out of this excursion. Funny how her grip was gentle and light. Not the painful fists he was accustomed to.

Reluctantly, he followed, counting off in his head: _First a right, then left, center, center… Bloody hell! What on earth is_ that _?_

‘That’ was an octagonal platform that rose several feet from the ground in the center of the huge cathedral they’d just entered. Spike had thought his own room was gigantic until this. A domed ceiling at least five hundred feet high curved downward to form a palace core that truly made him feel like an insect. Clear, crystal-cut windows at the top of the dome allowed the alien sun to shine in, casting orange and violet patterned reflections of the marbled walls. Sunset at the top of the world…

Illyria smiled at his awe. He looked pure and boyish in that moment, not the hardened warrior and would-be lover she’d fought tooth and nail for so long. Such wonder in his blue eyes. She was almost sorry she broke it. “You may linger later, when we have the time,” she granted.

He frowned, snapping himself out of his trance. He noticed she’d stepped up onto the platform, startling in its pitch-blackness within this white hall. The blasted ferns she seemed so fond of circled the platform, growing tall and bright in the sun.

“Hurry.” A hint of impatience entered her voice. She didn’t want to let her concern slip to him, but it was difficult when the enormity of what she was about to do hung around them like a dark cloud. She was goddess. She knew that. But the divine had fallen once before, although not to nearly so delightful a fascination as the one she bore for her half-breed concubine.

He blinked at her. “Hurry, where?” He gestured to the room around them. The door behind them had sealed off, seamless and invisible against one of the eight walls.

“I will show you,” she insisted impatiently.

One skeptical eyebrow raised, he stepped up onto the black platform. She took his hand again, yanked him up against her body.

“Hey!” he exclaimed in protest. “Keep your—”

His words were broken off by the inhuman cadence that vibrated from her throat. Instantly, the world seemed to fragment into bright colors and shards of glass. He felt the ground beneath him tilt, a nearly insurmountable pressure crushing against his skull. His feet gave out then, and only her iron grip held him aloft, pressed against her body.

Suddenly, the universe righted itself again, and he was left gasping for air, wiping belatedly at the blood that had trickled from his nose due to the pressure.

Observing that he could stand on his own once more, Illyria released her hold on him. “No matter how powerful, the gateways always demand a sacrifice from those who use them for the first time.”

He gulped, shaken by the experience. “You, too?” he demanded.

“Even I,” she agreed with a little nod. “Come. We are late already, and there is much to do this evening.”

He glanced around him for the first time then, a puzzled frown furrowing his brow. “We’re exactly where we started.”

“Incorrect. We are in the gateway room of the Temple now, not the Palace.” She headed for one of the eight walls with determined strides.

He followed after, still feeling a bit queasy and weak in the knees. “Well, isn’t that just spiffy?” he commented sarcastically.

“Indeed.” The wall vanished before her, and she strode down another hallway, finally coming to a halt before a door incised with silver twining branches, much like the one to his own humble abode. Her fists clenched as she steeled herself up.

He watched in mild curiosity as the burgundy robes he usually saw her in slowly transformed to the leather armor he remembered from that fateful battle when they’d first met. “You’re just full of the parlor magic tonight…”

She turned back to him, expression more earnest than he’d ever seen it. “Do not make this any more difficult than need be,” she requested.

“No can do. Goes contrary to my wicked demon nature. Or something.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “This trial will not be easy for you,” she insisted.

He frowned at that. “Trial?”

“Just be silent,” she advised, “if you are even capable of such a thing…” A cynical little smile curved her lips.

He couldn’t help but grin at that, too. “You know better than that, luv,” he tisked.

“I do.” A final calming breath, and she commanded the runes upon the wall to let them enter. She took a confident step inside, and he followed close behind. The Council’s back was to the door, of course, from where they each sat in a semi-circle before the high throne of Vahla Ha’nesh.

They turned at the sound, however, and Illyria and Spike hadn’t made it halfway to the Council table before one nearly hysterical voice demanded:

“What the hell is _he_ doing here?”

Illyria ignored the question, issued by her Qwa’ha Xahn, and all the others that followed it. Spike was tempted at first to make a snide remark, but three angry vaalian stares quieted his tongue. Especially that general bloke reaching for his scimitar. Maybe it wasn’t so wise to piss this lot off, after all.

“Sit,” Illyria ordered him after they’d made their circuit of the room.

There was a chair beside the high throne, he noticed then. That same perfect carved white stone, a filigree of twisted vines ornamenting it. Shorter and not so grand as its neighbor, but elegant enough nonetheless.

He sat.

Illyria took the throne as was her divine right.

And all hell broke loose.

“ _What_ is he doing here?” Knox instantly demanded once more, rising to his feet in an outraged flourish.

“You endanger the entire Council – not to mention the Kingdom – by bringing a traitor into our midst?” demanded the frighteningly tall vaalian male. Xaneth, Spike thought his name was. Hot shot military general or some such.

“Has there been another incident?” This was from a short, nervous-looking vaalian male Spike had never seen before. “The guards were warned to—”

“My En U’Eliq is here at my request,” Illyria quickly reassured him. “Your guards remain most effective, Veriou.”

That got Shorty to sit down – Veriou, Spike reckoned. Knox and Xaneth still looked like they were out for blood. And the pretty vaalian woman at the end of the table still hadn’t said a word, but if looks could kill, he’d be burning in hell already. And then, of course, there were the two potted plants at either end of the table. Spike wondered if they were part of the Council; this lot looked just loony enough to put up her Her Blueness’ little floral obsession.

“Your… _what_?” Knox repeated in disbelief.

“Developed a bit of a hearin’ problem, have you?” Spike couldn’t help himself anymore. “I hear ‘s a common side-effect to, say, betrayin’ the whole bloody world. Karma, y’know.”

“He’s—” Knox sputtered indignantly, unable to complete his thought.

Illyria turned demanding blue eyes on Spike. “Silence,” she insisted.

“Foamin’ at the mouth’s another symptom,” he shot back to Knox at the same time.

“It’s clear he has no respect for this Council or your Kingdom,” Xaneth repeated his position, deep voice booming throughout the echoing room.

“The only requirements my En U’Eliq need fulfill are to attend the Council meetings and share my bed,” Illyria countered.

“Which, of course, ‘m not doin’…” Spike muttered under his breath, slouching insouciantly in his little mini-throne. Now, this was turning out to be fun after all, watching the bigwigs squirm.

Xaneth frowned at the truth of that statement. Apparently, vaalian hearing wasn’t up to catching Spike’s comment. “I can tolerate him as your Mi’yik,” his tone turned pleading now, “but even that was a danger. You cannot truly mean to entrust our Council meetings to an admitted Resistance sympathizer.”

“Vital state matters may be brought to me, personally,” Illyria assured him. “As always. I see no reason that my new consort cannot hear discussion of the weekly matters of state administration.”

“I will not share this chamber with a _half-breed_ ,” the vaalian woman spoke up for the first time, tone venomous.

That turned Xaneth’s frown away from Illyria for the first time. “You forget that the half-breeds are our allies,” he pointed out.

Silver-blue eyes flashing, her hands tightened to fists. “You do not have to suffer them every day. Vile, limited creatures, befouling the demon name, degrading us all before—”

“We would not have defeated the first Slayer army without their aid,” Xaneth cut her off in harsh reminder.

“We should have used them and disposed of them,” she shot back.

“Xaneth, Eyaal, enough.” Illyria’s voice was practically a growl. Her eyes narrowed in pointedly on Eyaal. “Xaneth has managed to incorporate the half-breeds—”

“Vampires,” Spike felt obliged to mumble.

“—Into the army without difficulty,” Illyria ignored his objection. “If you cannot manage the same in civil matters, perhaps I should name another as V’ranna.”

The vaalian woman shut her mouth at that. “There is no problem,” she insisted quickly before sitting back down.

Knox, in the meantime, had managed to get over his horrified shock and speak once more. “What, we’re just going to sit back and allow this?” he demanded of the rest of the Council indignantly. “It’s insane!”

“As long as I am able to discuss vital military matters in private, I don’t see that we have any right to object,” Xaneth finally commented, although he seemed quite reluctant in his conclusion.

“No right?” Knox exclaimed. “You’re just going to sit back and let her pillow-talk away everything we’ve fought for?”

“I do no such thing.” A hint of ire entered Illyria’s tone. “Do not forget whose Kingdom this is.”

Knox turned to her. “Anything else you should tell us about?” he demanded snidely. “Are you sleeping with Kirazi on the side, too?”

‘Kirazi?’ Spike mouthed, puzzled.

The rest of the room fell silent in stunned horror. Even Knox seemed to realize belatedly that he’d stepped _way_ over the line.

“Were it not for your years of loyal service,” Illyria managed to temper down her rage enough to think coherently, “you would be my new pet’s prey by now.”

He nodded numbly.

“I grow weary of your whining. Another act of insolence, and you will be removed.”

A second frightened-looking nod.

“The fern’s gonna manage that how now?” Spike couldn’t help but ask.

Knox glared at him, but sat back down.

Spike gave him a wicked smile back, looking him up and down so that there was no doubt in Knox’s mind that Spike was picturing him nice and eviscerated…

“Are we finished with the matter of my En U’Eliq, then?” Illyria inquired with deceptive pleasantness.

It was clear that everybody wanted to say something. Wisely, none of them did.

“You lot always this much fun?” Spike asked cheekily.

“Can he at least not insult us?” Veriou requested timidly.

Illyria scowled at Spike. “I am…working on that,” she assured him. “Now, I require information on Kirazi’s movements.”

“All the portals on the American continent remain inactive,” Xaneth began his report.

And Spike actually listened to him quite intently. It seemed Blue Blood had a bit of an enemy out there. An enemy with an army big enough that she had her knickers in a twist over a feared invasion. Now, wasn’t that… _interesting_?


	4. Belles and Balls

It was frightening sometimes how fast one could become accustomed to things. Spike stalked into his room, duster flaring behind him, eyes blazing, and hands clenched into tight fists. A month ago he could have counted on one hand the number of times he’d made it out that door. Now, it had become such an ordinary occurrence that it didn’t even cross his mind that once the door had constantly been locked.

Of course, he was still no better off than before. As far as escape plans went, at least.

“She does it to drive me insane,” he informed his roommate angrily, tossing his coat on one of its leafy branches. “Give the vamp the illusion of freedom just to get his hopes up and…” His fist collided with the top on a black chest, cracking the woodwork. “Wants me clear outta my mind,” he insisted, pointing a knowing finger at the fern before collapsing in his armchair and flicking on the telly.

Now, he wasn’t quite sure how the contraption worked without any power cords. Some strange mixture of magic and technology, no doubt. It was one thing he didn’t complain about in this New Kingdom; He’d always had a tendency to trip over electrical wires during his more energetic rants.

He found one of the Classic Television channels. There were eight of them, all broadcasting programs from before Illyria’s overthrow of the human governments. Funny how the Simpsons didn’t lose its edge, even when demons had taken over the earth…

Half paying attention to the screen, he considered this new and latest predicament. Life hadn’t been so bad since he’d been officially named Illyria’s consort, really. He had free run of the palace – or the upper floors, at least; he still hadn’t figured out how to get those damnable portals to take him down and out – and the guards weren’t allowed to lay a finger on him, so he had plenty of fun making their lives hell. Whatever little blows he could strike, right? Once a week, there was a big official meeting where everyone else scowled at him, and he insulted them gleefully until Her Blueness threatened some humiliation or other. Then, he’d watched them describe the continuing encroachment of this Kirazi bloke – another of Illyria’s brand of Old Ones, from what Spike could gather, brought back to life by the same voodoo and trying to cut himself a slice of Illyria’s domain. Power to him, as far as Spike was concerned.

So, yeah. He’d gotten complacent. Had even let Illyria clasp his hand during her last big public announcement. Although, admittedly, only after he’d grown bored of buggering up her PR. Too bad they played the tape on a delay…

But this was too far. There was no way he was just going to sit back and let her… “Bugger.” A sigh escaped his lips as his head fell back against the chair back and he closed his eyes. He was starting to develop quite a headache.

Abstractly, he’d been vaguely aware that most of the people – and not-people – around the palace were convinced that he was merrily boinking away at their goddess every night. It hadn’t bothered him as a vague, distant principle.

But the notion of tagging along on Illyria’s arm while she paraded him around as her boy-toy on the annual V’N Hara Day celebration make his stomach crawl. There was a word for people like him.

 _Collaborator…_

Not that he had any say in the matter, of course. _Maybe_ , if he put up enough of a scene, Old Blue-Eyes would see red and beat him so bloody he couldn’t go. It wasn’t a very pleasant alternative, but it was the only one he could think of that would leave his reputation untarnished.

On the other hand…

“Tryin’ to drive me insane,” he sighed under his breath, considering his plan.

As plans went, it wasn’t a bad one. Actually, all his plans started out nicely enough. The problem came when, like all good plans, they required more than a few seconds patience out of him. That was usually when he blew it. But he’d been waiting around doing nothing for fourteen years now. How hard could it be to keep himself in check a few more?

“Xaneth insists the Resistance ‘s still out there,” Spike commented out loud, flicking to another channel during a commercial break. Vaalians played football. _Real_ , British football. Huh. Who knew? “And that means they’ll be watchin’ the festivities tonight.”

And he had plenty of information to throw their way…

* * *

“You are inordinately…obedient tonight,” Illyria observed as they stepped onto the platform.

“Yeah, well, fancy my limbs, y’know?” Spike retorted unconvincingly. He cast her a curious look when she didn’t begin the transport incantation immediately. Instead, she was studying him quite carefully, rather like a scientist would study a petri dish. The look gave him weird Fred flashbacks. “What?” he demanded, nervous.

“You will submit yourself to a temporal distortion,” she finally informed him.

“I will do no such thing,” he insisted stubbornly, tensing himself up in preparation for fighting her temporal powers.

Illyria sighed wearily. She had anticipated his resistance, but his recent cooperation had tempted her to try reason. She was still not entirely unconvinced it wouldn’t work. “I cannot permit you to obtain access to this incantation,” she explained. “I will freeze you it time, and you will not hear it.”

“Danglin’ the keys to my prison in my face, luv?” he tisked. “Shouldn’t’ve given me the head’s up.”

“Indeed,” she admitted.

She’d entertained brief hope as of late that he was coming around. The extra freedoms she’d granted him had made him somewhat less belligerent. He still withdrew from her touch, true, but she had thought that that resistance would also fade with time. She’d been hoping it would be soon because his nearness was becoming quite a distraction from her matters of state.

She wondered whether he realized just how tantalizing she found it that his body was only mere inches away. So close, yet so untouchable all at once. She savored the challenge of him, while at the same time raging that this one prize remained so elusive. Perhaps she should compel him. Take what she could get, then punish him for his disobedience and try to force him to give in. The very prospect made her wet her lips. But, while the fantasy was pleasing, she knew the physical actuality would not be what she desired from him…

“The alternative,” she informed him in mildly annoyed tones, “is to render you unconscious throughout transport.”

He scowled and swore. “Fine,” he finally agreed, posture sullen.

Illyria cast him a suspicious look. That had been almost too easy. He blinked back at her with innocent blue eyes. She’d learned from over a decade of observing humanoid facial features that this indicated the likelihood of guilt. He was up to something…

She didn’t have time to dwell on it at the moment, however. One hand extended, a temporal pulse following its wake. The air distorted, and Spike froze, stiller than even the dead. Satisfied, Illyria murmured the incantation to take them down to the ground, and they vanished in a flash of white and black…

* * *

Her consort was shy.

Illyria couldn’t help but smile in mild amusement as Spike took the first opportunity given him to race off toward the bar and out of the crowds. There was something decidedly… _cute_ about seeing the antagonistic vampire flee from nothing more than several of the wealthiest human and vaalian women expressing interest in a dance. The smile curved at the edges of Illyria’s lips throughout the evening, and she kept one eye on where Spike was skulking in the shadows by the bar throughout the complex negotiations that always occurred at such festivals.

Illyria wondered sometimes just how much she and her army had been transformed by their human hosts. In her Old Kingdom, they’d celebrated, true. But with torches and sacrifices and the labyrinthine dances of the vaalians that were so complex they drove simple-minded mortals literally mad. They’d celebrated when there was worthy blood to be spilt, and more often than not their revelry was unplanned, plunging their subjects into a constant state of panic that a bloodbath could very well begin the next night.

To say things had…tamed since those days was an understatement. This was a celebration, planned and dictated by human customs, set on the human notion of an anniversary, honoring blood spilt years ago. None would die, few would suffer, and all would ‘mingle’, except apparently Spike who was doing his best to get drunk.

Civilized, domesticated, refined.

When she’d first awakened in this new shell, Illyria would have raged against anything of the sort. Now, those small fragments of Winifred Burkle that remained insisted this was normal; this was how the world worked now, and it was so much easier to move with the flow than fight against it.

Oh, Illyria knew she’d changed. Her desire for her half-breed consort made that plain as day. Change spun about her, and – even with all her might – she wasn’t immune. Fortunately, she’d learned to welcome that change, figured out how it could be used to both her advantage and her detriment.

“Your Kingdom is revered.”

She hadn’t heard her Qwa’ha Xahn’s approach, but it didn’t surprise her. He always seemed to be near these days. “This world is mine,” she agreed.

Knox smiled at that. “The golden age you promised…”

His own tone was reverent as he spoke of her, and something in his eyes caused Illyria to avert her own. Strange, that she should find such worship…unnerving. Another side effect of her old human memories, perhaps? Some distant voice whispering in her ear that such fanaticism spoke of madness.

“Indeed,” she agreed pleasantly enough, shaking off the odd train of thought. After all, he was her High Priest. Devotion was a quality to be commended, not chastised.

“I do hope everything meets with your approval,” he commented hopefully, standing beside her to watch the powerful swirl together in colorful armors.

“Quite acceptable,” she complemented him on his fine work in organizing this occasion. “Already Xaneth has secured several powerful allies in the war against Kirazi.”

“Oh yes,” Knox sounded disappointed, “that.” He hesitated for a moment, worrying his lip between his teeth.

“Something troubles you,” Illyria commented, gaze directed far across the ballroom to where her En U’Eliq was speaking with a yellow-furred half-breed female. Something stirred deep inside her at the sight. Something not at all pleasant…

“It’s just that it’s something of a tradition among humans that holidays should be, well…fun,” he admitted hesitantly. “The point isn’t to secure political power or—”

“But we have done so,” Illyria insisted. “We have succeeded.”

Knox sighed. There were times when he felt like he was living on an alien planet. A man with less faith would have questioned his new overlords; Knox looked upon his goddess with love and adoration. She was seeing him slowly, he convinced himself. She was still learning to decipher human customs and ideas. It was all new to her, and he was her guide…

“Do you want to—?” he began nervously, extending one hand to her and gesturing to the dance floor. Human party dances had become quick fashion among the vaalians, and the floor was nearly full.

His offer went ignored, however, as Illyria’s cold blue eyes narrowed in on her half-breed. Fraternizing with his own kind was acceptable; physical contact was not. Oblivious to all but her task, she stalked around the massive banquet hall.

Knox’s eyes narrowed when he saw where she was headed. _Spike…_ Knox had wanted him dead from the moment he’d first seen Angel’s little band of do-gooders attempt to spoil Illyria’s glorious ascent. He gladly would’ve driven in the stake himself, but some quirk of fate had left the vampire unconscious but still undead after that great first battle. The perfect pet, Illyria had decided on a whim.

Knox had been encouraging a dusty end for the vampire ever since. And now it seemed the fates were mocking him again. For the half-breed had taken the one thing Knox desired above all else without even trying. _My goddess…_

Scowling, Knox turned away from the scene and back to the local High Priest and Priestess of the African and European continents, respectively. He knew Illyria’s greatness above all others. He had faith that she’d see the traitor for what he was one day, and Knox had every intention of being there to watch that irritating vampire dust at his feet…

* * *

Spike had been somewhat surprised and more than a little relieved when Illyria had let him flee off into his own corner. Hearing a bunch of daft old biddies assessing him like a piece of meat and congratulating Illyria on her fine taste, was not his idea of a good time. In fact, he figured he had to get pissed and fast just to wipe the unpleasant memory from his mind.

The bar had more than one advantage. Rich snots made up the guest list of this festive occasion. Prats who were perfectly willing to trade away everyone else’s lives to keep the _status quo_. The hired help, on the other hand, were the disenfranchised, the destitute. If there was anyplace to look for dissent, it was here.

“You got any good stuff?” Spike demanded, scrunching his nose up at the wineglasses that lined the countertop.

The human bartender looked up at him, saw he meant business, and grinned. “Any preference?” he inquired when he made sure no one else was listening.

“Bourbon?”

“You got it.”

Spike accepted the bottle gratefully, filled the first glass, and downed it in one swallow. “ _This_ is what ‘ve been missin’,” he commented with a relieved sigh. Glass number two.

“Vaalians don’t drink,” the bartender agreed. “Must be hell for everyone else who lives in the palace.”

Spike snorted. “Tell me about it.” He drank this glass more slowly, savored the rough taste, the burning inside him as the liquor warmed up his cold body.

“You work here, then?” the bartender made polite conversation when it became clear that Spike wasn’t about to leave. “I saw you with the Big Blue-cheese earlier.”

Spike laughed at that and finished his drink. “They call her that?” he asked, amused.

“All the time on the streets,” the bartender grinned. “You know her?”

Spike groaned. “’m her ‘date’,” he complained.

“Gotcha.” A second bottle appeared on the table before Spike. Sympathy for the downtrodden.

“How ‘bout you?” Spike asked curiously. “Demonic overlords been treatin’ you right?”

“As well as can be expected…”

Spike very purposefully took the empty bourbon bottle and placed it on its head. The bartender gave him a nervous look, nodded, and quickly took the bottle away. Spike watched him vanish into the back room and waited impatiently. Apparently some old signals still meant something in the Resistance. Either that, of the bartender was a loyalist and was reporting him for treachery at this very moment.

Spike would’ve been concerned had everyone not already known he was a traitor. Hell, he pitied whoever delivered the message to Her Blueness. They’d get a nice rant about how she knew that the whole bloody time. Maybe, if they were lucky, they’d get to keep their spine…

But then the bartender was back, no guards in tow. “The veranda,” he murmured under his breath, moving to take the still-full bottle away. “She’ll know you.”

Spike snagged the bottle back. “’m a desperate man,” he countered, a hint of humor at the edges of his lips.

The bartender merely grinned as Spike slipped the bottle into his duster pocket. With a final wave, he turned away to tend to the rest of his customers.

 _Now_ , Spike thought, _that was easy. Too easy almost. Either the entire human population’s out for Her Haughty Holiness’ blood, or this cell’s not the brightest of the…_ He spotted his contact, knew it was her without even having to be told. _Bugger. The latter it is, then._ He sighed and rolled his eyes. Sometimes he had the worst luck in the world…

“Spikey!”

Actually, the high-pitched squeal didn’t grate on his nerves for once. It was funny what loneliness could do to a person. Years of nearly complete solitude, and any familiar face was a blessing.

“Harm,” he murmured against her hair, returning her hug. Mmm, she smelled nice. Was prettier than he’d remembered, too. Why hadn’t he made a go for this bird again?

“Oh my god!” she gasped excitedly, pulling away to look at him as if she couldn’t believe he was really there. “You haven’t, like, gotten a make-over in _another_ fourteen years?” she exclaimed in disbelief. “’Cause the eighties? So thirty years ago…” She frowned, began doing obvious subtraction in her head before shaking it off. “Close enough.”

Spike winced. Oh yeah, that had been why they’d never worked together: The oblivious shallowness. Still, seeing _anyone_ had made it through the occupation was enough to make him feel right cheerful. “Thought everyone’d been blown sky high along with the Senior Partners,” he commented casually, giving her hair an affectionate little nuzzle before he pulled away from their embrace.

A high-pitched, lovelorn little squeak escaped her lips before she shook her head and got back on track. “Hello? You honestly thought I’d stick around for _that_ massacre? When I had a free facial at Sabrini’s?”

Spike just shook his head, a small smile on his face. “Nothin’ ever did get you down…”

A sly smile curved her lips as she trailed her fingers lightly up the front of his chest. “You had a way of convincing me to go down,” she flirted shamelessly.

He leered at her. “Seem to recall that,” he purred, leaning in closer. He’d been a bit sex-starved since Illyria had called dibs on him. About time he remedied that…

“Oh. Wait.” With a defeated sigh, Harmony pulled away from his kiss.

“Wait?” he repeated skeptically. The Harm he remembered had always been good for a round or four.

“Yeah. I’m kinda engaged. So I’m not supposed to, y’know, make love with other men.” She gave him a disappointed little pout before inspiration struck. “But since I totally didn’t know you were alive or…” A frown. “Unalive? Whatever. I could always get unengaged and—”

She continued to prattle on, and reason struck Spike. Horniness was a lovely thing, but if he’d finally found someone who would take Harm off his back permanently, it was best not to rock the boat. “Better stick with your Romeo, pet,” he suggested gently.

She bit her lower lip. “I miss our quickies,” she whined.

He couldn’t help but smile at that. “Me, too.” Then, figuring one last taste couldn’t hurt, he leaned in to place a quick kiss on her lips. Somehow that one second was all she needed to wrap her body around him, hands clinging to his hair, legs tangled about the backs of his thighs. Eventually, he had to pry her away.

She sniffed. “It’s so tragic. Torn between the two great loves of my life and—”

Spike suddenly noticed out of the corner of his eye that Illyria had seen their little show and was stomping over to them with definite purpose in her stride. “Fuck,” he swore.

“Never learned manners, I see,” Harmony complained. “I never _could_ take you any—”

“Harm!” he cut her off, mildly-annoyed.

“Always rude and interrupting, too. You never listened to what I had to say. You know, a little courtesy would go a long way towards—”

“ _Harm_!” That shut her up for two seconds. “Illyria’s headed right this way. You’re my contact, right? So give your spiel _fast_.”

“Oh!” Harmony belatedly remembered why she was here and that Dan had torn her she was supposed to meet someone and… Hey, that person she was meeting must have been Spike. Figured. Chaos always did seem to follow him. “Here.” She stuck her hand down the front of her dress, pulled out a small round gray stone and handed it to him.

He blinked at the tiny rock in his hand skeptically.

“Hello?” She gestured for him to hurry, looking nervously over his shoulder at Illyria’s steady approach. Some vaalian hunk had intercepted her. Mmm…nice biceps… And, oh yeah, imminent danger. Time of the essence. “Hurry, before she catches us.”

“Hurry and…what?” he asked.

“Well, duh! Eat it.”

“ _Eat it_?” Spike exclaimed in disbelief. “’m eatin’ rocks why now?”

“Because of the magic?” She blinked at him. “Y’know, the magic that turns it into a interdimensional communicator? So we can, like, contact you and stuff when the coast is clear?”

He gave her an exasperated sigh and her incompetence at providing vital information in a timely manner and downed the little stone. At least, it was tasteless.

Harmony breathed a little sigh of relief. “Jeez, were you always this slow?” she complained.

He clenched his jaw and kept his anger under control. “So how does the bloody thing work exactly?” he asked in a tight voice.

“Oh. You just wait ‘til no one will hear you and say the code word, which is—”

“What is this… _creature_?” Illyria’s nose turned up in distaste as she arrived, wrapping a proprietary arm around Spike’s waist and forcing his body against hers with every ounce of strength she had. It was more than he’d be able to overcome, even if he had been prepared to resist.

Harmony gulped and looked to Spike with wide, frightened eyes.

“Bluet, Harm,” he introduced, affecting as casual manner as he could. “Harm’s an old flame. Popped by to show me up with her new squeeze. You know, ex stuff.”

Illyria blinked at him slowly, trying to decipher the inordinate amount of slang.

“Yeah, I’ll be off then,” Harmony smiled brightly. Never one to be put off for long. Especially since her hairdresser was _way_ better than Illyria’s. Honestly, streaks? _Sooo_ 2000s.

Spike watched her go in relief, then realized that she hadn’t given him the password. “Harm? Word?” he called after her.

She frowned, confused. “I thought I was getting out of here before she killed—Oh. Right. Uh…” She tried desperately for a moment to think of some clever way of imparting the information. But, then, she’d never been particularly good at that clever stuff. “Uh…unicorn you later!” She waved.

Spike winced.

Illyria considered that, decided human slang was even more foolish than she’d first believed, and returned to the matter at hand. “You are _my_ consort,” she informed him sternly, pulling him closer. He did begin to squirm at that, but she had one lovely moment in which to smell his musky scent against hers. When she breathed in his essence, it was difficult to remember that she’d ever believed this new world stank. He was so beautiful in every way… “You will not associate intimately with any other.” It wasn’t an order, but a statement of fact. For no one would be fool enough to defy her wishes.

“Got celibacy to look forward to too, then,” he grumbled. “Joy.”

“Stubborn creature…” she sighed wistfully. Her fingers lightly trailed over his wrist down to his hand. She caught his hand in hers before he could retreat. “You have embraced another in my presence,” she informed him sternly and a bit angrily. She refused to allow herself to dwell on why she was feeling the latter emotion. “You will demonstrate your fealty toward me before all present in recompense.”

“I will do no such—” he began indignantly.

“You will dance with me,” she ordered, blue eyes flashing, “or I will name you traitor and have you executed.”

Red-hot rage flashed through his eyes. Disgust and hatred more than anything she’d ever seen before. And Illyria realized too late that she’d crossed a line. Whatever game they’d been playing together before, she had just changed the rules on him, made him truly despise her for the first time.

“Whatever milady wishes,” he snapped, his tone snide and condescending. More unwilling than she’d ever heard him.

He did dance with her, though, and it was pleasant. She pressed her body against his, and for a moment willed her error from her consciousness. Her body responded to his nearness as always, eager to join with him. She heard his sharp inhalation of breath and knew he’d sensed her arousal. He stiffened, but didn’t respond. No defiance, no compliance. No anything. As if she’d sucked the passion right out of him, leaving him listless in her arms.

And she realized belatedly that all those years she’d never made a true enemy of him. Today, she finally had. And she couldn’t have picked worse timing because being this close to him was practically torture. She wanted – _needed_ – more of him now. And, as close as he was, he’d never been further out of reach…


	5. And On the Seventh Day…

_Day One:_

Illyria was goddess. Queen. Ruler of the Earth.

She was mistress of all. The world trembled at her feet and scrambled to do her bidding.

All in this realm was hers for the taking. Really, it was inconceivable that she’d spotted something she desired and hadn’t possessed it already.

It was surprising how often Illyria had to repeat this to herself as she walked purposefully through the halls of her palace. _This world is mine. He is mine._ It was almost as if something other than her rational mind were interfering. Perhaps the same strange instinct that wished for him to come to her willingly?

Whatever it was, it was a fool. Any softening she’d observed in him had hardened to stone after the fiasco at the V’n Hara Festival. He had refused her company, let himself be beaten rather than attend the weekly Council meeting, and had disposed of three of her guards.

In short, he hated her now, and convincing him to share her bed willingly had become entirely futile.

So she would do what a goddess did and take what was owed her. If only that voice inside would stop begging her not to hurt him this way. Clearly, it was some inferior relic from this shell’s previous human occupant. Illyria ignored it as best she could.

He refused to react as she stormed into his room, trapped behind locked doors once more. After all, she had to protect her guards, didn’t she? If only he’d agree to be reasonable, she’d give it all back to him gladly. She missed the arguments and the insults, the vague threats and scheming. She missed _him_.

Stalking over to where he reclined in his armchair before the TV, she turned it off and stood before him. As had been his habit as of late, he didn’t respond but merely glared at her.

“You are my En U’Eliq,” she insisted, feeling strangely nervous, “my consort. It is your function to share my bed.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked, but any snide comment he would’ve once made – perhaps that she was beginning to sound like a broken record? – was held within the angry depths of his eyes.

“I have been generous until now,” she continued doggedly. It was surprising her just how hard this was. His glare felt at through it pierced her flesh, cutting her deep. She knew the notion was absurd, but she felt it nonetheless. “Your recent insolence forces my hand.”

Blue eyes narrowed to angry gold pinpoints.

“I claim my half of your bed,” she informed him imperiously, confident in her conclusions.

Almost too quiet to be heard at first, a low growl rumbled through his chest. “Bloody bitch!” he finally spat.

They were the first words he’d spoken to her since that night. Illyria wasn’t quite sure that it was an improvement. “You will lie with me now,” she ordered.

“’ll do no such thing,” he retorted, rising to his feet, fists clenched.

“I cannot compel your arousal,” she conceded, “but I can compel your body.” She caught his wrist in one hand, pulled him up against her. “I require your…nearness,” she whispered softly, her tone turning gentle. “I have missed it.”

“You never had it to begin with.” He tried to pull away but couldn’t quite manage it. His shoulders slumped then, defeated. “Why do you even care?” he asked in desperation. “’S not like you even sleep…”

“Inaccurate,” she corrected him. “The magics that allow this shell to hold my full might require that I rest at regular intervals.” It was a bit of sensitive information she would’ve preferred he not be given, but perhaps such a gesture of trust would calm him. “I sleep just as every mortal in this world does. As you do.” She turned to the bed with single-minded purpose.

“Then ‘ll just wait ‘til you’re asleep and leave,” he retorted defiantly.

Illyria considered that. She _could_ tie him down, force him to lie with her. But the growing soft spot within her pleaded that that would be too much for now. “True,” she finally conceded, “but for now, you will lie with me.” It was a small request, really. Just a few minutes in which to feel his body beside her, breathe in his scent… She came intending to ask for much more, yet something about him always forced compromises from her lips.

Spike glanced down at where she still held his wrist in an iron grasp, realized he was beaten on this one point, and reluctantly let himself be dragged off to bed.

A small, mischievous smile curved Illyria’s lips as they lay side by side, and before he knew what was happening, her robes dissolved in a mist of blue light and she was completely nude beside him. He gulped, forcing his eyes away from the very willing and naked woman in his bed.

With a little sigh and a shake of her head, Illyria rested her head on the pillow beside his and slung one arm comfortably about his waist. “You are the most stubborn creature I have ever encountered,” she informed him fondly before closing her eyes and drifting off. It had been far too long since she’d had a companion for the night, and sleep came easily.

Spike squirmed uncomfortably for a few minutes, picturing Clem in a thong bikini to keep from reacting to Illyria’s rather delectable body. Finally, when he thought she was asleep, he ventured to pull away. Asleep, indeed. He breathed a sigh of relief and slipped off the bed as quietly as possible.

He made the mistake of looking back at her for one moment, gazing along blue-tinted nipples and coarse blue curls. Bugger. His jeans tightened, and in desperation he flung the folded blanket at the end of the bed over her body. There. That was better.

And, with a weary sigh, he settled into his armchair to spend the night in neck-cramping discomfort. Kicked out of his own bed. Could unlife get any worse?

* * *

 _Day Two:_

Spike scowled when he returned to his rooms to find that the armchair had mysteriously vanished. The few minutes he had let Illyria curl up beside him had apparently been worth his freedom once more. Or so he’d thought. Now, he just suspected it had been a way of getting him out of the way while she removed any furniture he could use as a bed. Except the bed, of course.

Illyria lay comfortably in the direct center of the bed, curious blue eyes watching him. She was waiting for him. Just great.

“My chair—”

“Will return when you cease this stubbornness,” she finished for him. She held out one hand. “Join me, my consort.”

He groaned. At least she wasn’t naked, though. Yet.

Nervously, he walked over to the bed and lay down beside her. No point in putting up a struggle when he needed all his faculties about him. He had to be ready in an instant whenever he found enough privacy to contact the Resistance and give them his ever-growing wealth of knowledge.

“Do you truly find my company so distasteful?” she inquired, turning on her side to look at him.

Great. She wanted to pillow talk. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at her. “You’re everything I fight against,” he countered. “’m no one’s pet.”

Warm knuckles reached up to caress his cheek. “My pet no longer,” she conceded.

“Same difference,” he grumbled. “You still want me to turn tricks, just of the dirtier kind.”

She sighed and lay against him. “Must you make every little thing as difficult as possible?” she asked rhetorically.

“Yes.” He wasn’t about to let her get away with any rhetorical questions, either.

She smiled against him. “I thought as much.” Her eyes closed…

He waited a few minutes, breathed, and slowly began extricating himself. Damn, she’d wrapped her body around his pretty damn well. He finally managed to slip away, though, and scowled pointedly at where his chair had once been.

And, reluctantly, he consigned himself to the floor. After all, the carpet wasn’t _that_ uncomfortable…

* * *

 _Day Three:_

“Bloody, buggerin’ hell!” Spike gaped at his room – now entirely void of all carpeting – the next day.

“Do not feign surprise,” Illyria managed a bemused smile. “Unless your aim is to amuse me. In which case, please continue.”

He growled at her and stomped around the room. All the non-reclinable furniture was still there; just the carpeting underneath had been taken.

“Alternately,” she mock-suggested, “you could spend your days with me here and attempt to dissuade the guards from their reorganization.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he grumbled. In apparent defeat, he sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed sullenly over his chest.

“I think, perhaps, you could carry out this defiance indefinitely,” she commented, sitting beside him.  
He tensed but didn’t move away when her fingers brushed over his. “Would it not be more pleasurable for the both of us were you to give in?”

“Wouldn’t you be disappointed if I gave in that easily?” he shot back easily. Comfortably.

Illyria smiled. It seemed they were returning to their earlier arrangement of petty bickering. “You have hunted prey as persistent as yourself,” she concluded, head cocked to one side.

He couldn’t help but smirk at that analogy. “Oh, more than once,” he sighed.

“Curious.”

“Mmm? Why?” he inquired lazily, lying back on the bed.

“You have known my desire. Yet, you will not act to alleviate it.”

“Would you?” he countered.

She lay beside him, staring at him intently and trying to decipher his meaning. “Clarify.”

“S’pose I told you a certain High Priest of yours has the hots for you. You about to go put out for him?” he leered crudely.

“My Qwa’ha Xahn?” She laughed, an airy sound. Heavy with danger and power, but light with Fred’s joy and enthusiasm all at once. The sound disturbed him. “The one you name Knox worships me as goddess. As you should.”

Spike snorted. “Hopes to worship his way right into your bed,” he countered. “And they say men are s’posed to be the clueless ones…”

Illyria frowned at his assessment, processing it. “You are in error,” she said slowly. But, really, the more she thought about it, the more sense it made. Curious, indeed.

“Piecing it together then, luv?” he smiled knowingly. “So, then. You off to fulfill Knoxy’s top twenty fantasies?”

The answer to this, at least, was clear. “I desire you. No other.”

Spike groaned. “Lucky me.”

“And tonight you will share this bed with me.”

“Sure thing, bluet,” he lied easily enough. After all, she’d forgotten to have her guards take all the linens from the bed. He figured he could build himself a right comfy nest on the floor with those…

* * *

 _Day Four:_

“You are outnumbered, defeated,” Illyria pointed out in exasperation.

“Thought you knew me better’n that, luv,” Spike retorted, fangs gleaming as he grinned. Fists raised, he stood between the two guards who were trying to remove the blankets and extra sheets from the room and the door.

“Your Imperial Highness?” one of the vaalian guards asked hesitantly, still nursing his jaw where the vampire had struck him.

Illyria shook her head in disbelief. “Continue your task,” she ordered.

“But…” the second guard dared to whisper.

Stalking over to Spike, Illyria dodged the first kick and retorted with one of her own. He staggered backward but quickly regained his footing and countered with a punch to her jaw.

She let out a little enraged exclamation and turned back to the guards. “Go.”

“Fuck!” Spike swore, but Illyria was blocking his blows now, keeping him nicely distracted while the guards made their hasty retreat.

“Can you not comply on one simple matter?” she let out a frustrated sigh as their fight came to an abrupt halt once her goal had been accomplished.

“If you’re looking for a cheery disposition, maybe you picked the wrong bedmate. You think?” His voice practically dripped sarcasm as, panting unnecessary for breath at their brief excursion, he collapsed back on the bed.

She considered that, lying down as well, fitting her body against his. “I appreciate the… _challenge_ of your insolence.” She paused, decided she agreed with that statement quite well. “So little has challenged me in this world.” Unusually gentle fingers trailed up the side of his throat and into his hair. “You are exciting in a time when all else has quaked at my approach.”

“Never was much of one for turnin’ tail,” he conceded.

“This makes you desirable to me,” she agreed.

Oh lovely. So all he had to do to get her to stop trying to seduce him was to turn into another of her acolytes. Just bloody brilliant, that. Why couldn’t it have just been something easy like ditching the coat? Chicks liked the coat. Thought it was sexy. But, oh no, he had to have a goddess after him, who was out for lay that wouldn’t worship. Lucky him.

He snuck out of bed as per usual and assessed his situation. Damn. He was running out of places to sleep in this room. Ah well, this next option wasn’t the comfiest, but he’d lived through it before…

As soon as he’d gone, Illyria ceased pretending to sleep and opened one eye. She’d expected to find him on the hard white-stone floor, lying persistently where he had slept the previous day. He was nowhere to be seen, however, and she began searching their room; she would’ve heard if he’d left the chambers.

The balcony was also empty, leaving only the bathroom. Somewhat puzzled, she nudged open the door and peered to find, much to her surprise, that he’d decided to sleep in the bathtub that evening.

She swore inwardly and debated this latest predicament. She couldn’t remove the bathroom, for he needed the facilities. She _could_ have the bathtub removed and a shower installed in its place, but that would require great time and effort. And she had rather hoped to enjoy a bath with him once he finally caved in.

A small smile curved her lips as a solution presented itself. She’d be getting that bath sooner than she’d thought…

She shed her robes with merely a thought as she approached the tub. So much easier to fold reality in on itself than to worry about all the fuss mortals made over clothes. Even in her Old Kingdom, she’d found the vaalians’ modesty about nudity peculiar. Although perhaps it served its purpose; she’d noticed that first day how much more difficult it had become for her half-breed to stop himself from acting like her true concubine once he’d seen her nude. It was a power she’d been considering carefully since, debating when would be the best time to use it. Now seemed like an interesting time to test, at any rate…

Her face curved with amused, if malicious, glee as she stepped into the tub. It was a large, spacious bathroom. Even when Spike had merely been her pet, she’d found it fitting to fit even her lowliest servants with fine accommodations as were benefiting the palace of a goddess. All the more so, now that Spike had become the highest in her regard.

Now, it meant that the tub was large enough to easily fit the both of them. She looked down at him curiously, curled up uncomfortably against the porcelain edge. It was almost inconceivable that any being would prefer this to her bed. But he was the most stubborn creature Illyria had ever encountered, so she didn’t take offense.

She _did_ , however, take revenge.

One hand ran fingers through his soft platinum hair in a caress, and then – suddenly – she turned on the cold water. Full blast.

With a shriek, Spike woke from his sleep, sputtering as the water sprayed down upon them from the showerhead. A second enraged gasp when he realized that Illyria had crawled into the tub naked with him. Sputtering indignantly, he scrambled to get out of the tub, tripping and cursing as he went.

And Illyria couldn’t help herself. He looked so _shell-shocked_ , standing there fully dressed, his clothes clinging uncomfortably to his body, rivers running down his forehead from his drenched white hair, rage burning in his eyes.

Spike let out a little growl at the sound of her laughter, and then rolled his eyes. It was odd hearing Fred’s light laugh, mixed in with this dark power, but it was sort of catching, too. “Very cute,” he said huffily, grabbing a towel from the basin and running it through his hair. And then, with a second appraisal of the situation, he tossed Illyria a towel, as well.

She considered it thoughtfully for a moment before drying her nude body. Odd, that he should remain considerate of her after what she’d just done. She even imagined a hint of humor creased the edges of his eyes. Yet, only a week before, she’d earned his full wrath for nothing more than ordering a dance from him. He was illogical, emotional, tempestuous and temperamental at best…

“Countin’ the molecules in that towel?” he inquired disinterestedly.

“You are inconsistent,” she finally informed him. “I do not understand why you react as you do. You are entirely unpredictable. It intrigues me.”

He froze at that. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he commented in surprise.

“You hear this as a complement?” Illyria was even more confused now. The divide that separated them had never seemed wider. No, his anger was not what kept them apart; it was her inability to comprehend these emotions he kept so close to the surface…

He shrugged and turned away, heading back to the bedroom to fetch some dry clothes.

She followed him, now dry, and returned to bed. “Should you return to the bath…” she began.

“Got it. Night full of wild water adventures,” he answered curtly.

She watched him undress, redress. “You defy my expectations,” she finally commented. “Perhaps that is why I find you so appealing.”

He smiled softly at that. “More than mutual,” he agreed. And laid down right on the cold, hard floor to sleep.

She smiled and went to sleep as well. The times when he was predicable just amused her all the more…

* * *

 _Day Five:_

Spike found himself in a bit of a quandary that day. An uncomfortable night on the floor hadn’t helped matters, of course. But not even he could blame his accommodations for _this_ latest twist.

Because some time, amidst their little play with the sleeping arrangements and quite possibly while she stood over him, nude, drenched, and laughing, Spike had started to see something more than an evil dictator to be hated and overthrown. She had a sense of humor, he realized, a conscious and curious mind that sought out the mystery of what he was. And he was horrified to admit to himself that he found it somewhat… _touching_ that a woman finally wanted to get to know the real him.

He had more than enough time to ponder his plight at that night’s meeting, sitting right beside Her Blueness and pulling away every time she ‘accidentally’ brushed his hand. The quirk of her lips was all he needed to know that she was making yet another game of this. A dance. Wasn’t that what he’d once told Buffy this was?

And, since he’d turned on his own internal personal little spy machine, he had nothing to do but sit back, not disturb things, and let the Resistance on the other end hear all the delightful state secrets that were being discussed. Almost felt wrong to be betraying Illyria, while at the same time playing this little ‘catch me if you can’ game…

And that night, he faced yet another lovely night on the floor, neck jarred painfully against the tile, and waking up every so often to think that maybe that nice, warm bed with the pretty, naked demoness wasn’t so bad after all. She’d told him he was welcome to the cold tile for as long as he wanted, which was gracious enough because he was sure that conniving little mind of hers would’ve eventually found some way of eliminating this resting place, as well. He had to hand it to her; she was persistent and clever.

And he _really_ didn’t need to think of more ways to compliment her.

So, with nothing left to do, his mind scrambled for an alternative. _Anything_ , really, to keep the fight in him still alive.

And that’s when he spotted it. Just a cursory glance, at first. He almost hadn’t believed he’d seen it. Frowning, he watched the meeting proceed around him as though nothing had just happened. He shook the strange thought off, but a few minutes later, sure enough he caught it again.

A slow smirk spread across his lips…

And Eyaal, Illyria’s cute little vaalian civil administrator, blushed and turned hastily back to her work.

Well now. This was just downright fascinating. He remembered how vehemently opposed to his appointment she’d once been. It seemed her opinion had changed. Not that he could blame her. Her office had to be duller than hell. Funny thought, though, that she might have the hots for him…

He continued to watch her, trying to remain inconspicuous to Illyria’s watchful eyes, and sure enough she threw those silver little doe eyes his way every five minutes or so. She had to know he’d caught her now, and it seemed to make her braver. On one volley of their little game of eyeball tennis, he curled his tongue up beneath his teeth, watched her gulp and follow his tongue’s movements in rapt fascination.

Interesting, indeed…

And maybe a safe-haven from Illyria for the night.

Blue Belle took off with Xaneth as soon as they were officially done. In hopes of getting some vital military information for the Resistance, he followed after her, but was shooed off. Nothing surprising there. For all her faults, Illyria was very careful about preserving her vital military secrets. She ran a tight ship. Bloody brilliant general…

He scolded himself inwardly for complimenting his opponent yet _again_. Damn, he needed a distraction from her, a way to wipe her completely from his mind, and… Well, Eyaal seemed to be slow in leaving that evening, fussing unnecessarily with the papers before her. And still casting appreciative looks in his direction.

It occurred to him then that what had once been mere flirtation could turn quickly to salvation. He approached her, eyes lowered, knowing smirk in place, and an extra swagger to his step.

And she smiled and gave him the invitation he needed to get away from his nagging thoughts about another demonic woman who hoped to be his lover…

* * *

 _Day Six:_

Spike returned to his room the next morning with an air of trepidation. He’d had the best night’s sleep in a week, and his body was satiated for the first time in months now. A good time was had all around.

And he had no doubt Illyria would be furious.

Still, better to bite the bullet now. The first surprise that greeted him when he returned home was that his room was as it had been before Illyria’s little pronouncement at the beginning of the week. The carpet was back. The linens were back. The chair was back. As if none of this had ever happened. The sight alarmed him in ways he didn’t think it should have.

Even the bed was vacant and perfectly made – undoubtedly by one of the shadowy servants who scurried around the palace and made everything run. He approached it cautiously, puzzled as to what this new trick was.

“I waited for you last night.”

The words came from behind him by the door, and he cursed himself inwardly that he jumped and spun around like some little virgin in a horror flick.

Illyria stood there, in full armor, assessing him with those eerie cold eyes of hers. Her face bore no expression, simply a blank look of one who sees all the world and isn’t impressed by it.

“Long wait,” he countered nervously, fumbling for his cigarettes. He had little doubt he’d get quite a beating out of this slight. Maybe Eyaal, too. And, damn it, now he felt guilty for siccing Illyria against her.

“Your actions last night were…unpredictable.” She spoke the last word slowly, thoughtfully, as if analyzing all its implications.

He shrugged, keeping a wary eye on her as he inhaled a deep breath of nicotine.

“Am I so much worse than she is?” Illyria abruptly asked, puzzling over the riddle she couldn’t decipher.

“You’re all part of the same machine, luv,” he answered reluctantly. Girl had a point there. And, fuck, he had to remember that this _wasn’t_ a girl.

“Am I less appealing to your eyes?” she inquired, a hint of – oh, now, that wasn’t pain. No way in hell was he feeling sorry for…

“No.”

“I see.” Illyria sighed. “Or, rather, I do not.” And, with no further explanation, she left the room. No blows. No yelling. No nothing. Just that dejected slump to her shoulders and those strangely vulnerably questions.

Feeling like a jerk – and hating himself for feeling guilty about _any_ of this – Spike slumped into his chair and flicked on the television. After all, she was the evil bloody demonic overlord of the world. He did _not_ worry about hurting her feelings. He overthrew her government, and then… Well, he didn’t know what then, but the alternative had to be better, right? No other reason everyone he’d ever loved had died fighting in that war…

His rationalizations didn’t ease his conscience, however, and by the time evening came around, he’d resigned himself to giving bluet a heartfelt apology.

She didn’t show up that night, though.

It felt strange to have his bed to himself again. No more hindrance or conflict. Strange. And not as pleasant as he would’ve imagined.

* * *

 _Day Seven:_

Illyria lay semi-conscious in her own bed that night, as the sun slowly set. She’d refused to let herself even think about her half-breed for the last two days. There was a sense of betrayal there, true, but betrayal meant little to her and her world. And it was certainly not outside the norm for an Old One’s consort to take up other lovers. Spike was free to do so, just as Eyaal was free to take whatever lover she was able to lure to her bed. That was not the part that bothered her.

What haunted the edges of her thoughts at all times was that she had thought, the night before he’d had his affair, that they were finally connecting on some level. That, perhaps, he was first beginning to see her through a lover’s eyes. In retrospect, she was shocked with how openly she’d acted around him, how she’d left herself vulnerable to just this sort of blow. But she’d thought she was beginning to understand him and his many quirks. Thought that, despite all he held against her, he didn’t wish to harm her emotionally.

And the notion that she’d been wrong, that there really was nothing there, gave her despair that she’d never felt before toward him. Perhaps she should make him merely her pet once more. Hadn’t they all been happier that way?

And, she realized with chagrin, she was dwelling upon him once more. Hardening her heart against him, she closed her eyes to sleep. She would think of him no longer, she would…

The presence of an intruder hit her slowly at first, but once she realized what it was, she sat up with a jolt. How _dare_ someone enter her personal chambers without her permission?

But then, of course, there was only one person who _would_ dare.

“Xaneth told me where to find you,” Spike answered the question in her eyes as he stood at the end of the bed, studying her. “Don’t blame him, though. Told him I had a nice surprise planned for you.”

Uncertainty of an almost paralyzing nature swept through her, and she couldn’t find anything to do or say except to watch him as he walked casually about the room.

“This whole En U’Eliq thing,” he began conversationally, kicking off his boots. One ended up beneath the armchair beside her bed. The other slid across the floor for quite a ways. He left them where they landed. “I figure it goes both ways.” He slipped out of his duster and tossed it onto the chair. Her attention piqued even more when he pulled off his shirt and left it on the chair as well. He left his jeans on, though. “So ‘m taking _my_ place in _your_ bed,” he announced, slipping in beside her.

A small smile graced her lips, and it wasn’t Fred’s old toothy grin, but it still had a certain sweetness to it.

With a little huff, he pulled the sheet over him and shut his eyes. “And don’t try anything,” he grumbled.

She studied him for a moment, surprise and then understanding passing through her all at once. So she hadn’t been wrong about him at all. He was a fool, perhaps, but an honorable one. She lay down against him, pillowing her cheek on his chest and holding him close. She’d never had this with her other lovers. She’d enjoyed their bodies but not just their presence. She was surprised to find just how pleasant it was. She could certainly get used this…

And Spike couldn’t help thinking that this wasn’t so bad. After all, it was just a bit of cuddling. No harm in that. Right?


	6. Oh, What A Tangled Web

Illyria awoke that morning with a contented smile. Her half-breed had curled himself around her during the night, seeking her warmth. It was during these moments, when he was unconscious, that he was closest to being her true lover. And she was loath for them to end, but urgent matters awaited her attention.

The hour was later than she’d anticipated. She’d kept him awake for some time the previous evening, regaling him with glorified stories of her past might. He’d had that half-smirk on his face all the while, but he’d lain there beside her, not interrupting any more than his naturally impatient nature would allow, and listening to her every word.

She’d never thought she would need someone like this. Just a _companion_ , to keep her company and listen to her thoughts. No, this was a need she’d never anticipated. But perhaps this desire she felt for him had known all along. Known that she needed him, not only for his body, but for his mind and personality as well.

He let out an unconscious little whimper of protest when she sat up. And that felt good, too. Somewhere – albeit probably far in the back of his subconscious – he needed her as well. It occurred to her belatedly that he must’ve found the past decade incredibly lonely. Only his food to keep him company. No wonder he’d taken to making lovers out of the humans she’d sent his way.

A part of her regretted how she’d once treated him. But then, another part insisted it was a perfectly reasonable way to treat one’s pet. She _shouldn’t_ have cared for his distress back then. It was the order of things. That, and it was fruitless to speculate on the past.

The past was an illusion, in any case, a filter through which the human mind struggled to comprehend the world. She could still pull herself outside time when she wished. But she’d been doing so less and less over the years. This human brain she now occupied forced her to see the world through their eyes more often than not. And the human viewpoint had gotten…comfortable. This was laziness on her part, she knew, but perhaps it wasn’t such a great loss. The human perspective certainly had its advantages…

She pet his hair lightly, watching blue-tipped fingers pass through pure white. She couldn’t help thinking that they looked beautiful _together_. And one day they would be. Her confidence in him had returned now, and she knew it was only a matter of time before he became her lover in every way. He was so close now, so very close…

He muttered softly in his sleep, and Illyria realized she’d leaned in close without even intending to do so. His breath was cool against her cheek, and the sensation was intimate and exciting.

She didn’t let herself think, then. She just acted. Pressed her lips against his gently for a few seconds, tasted the wild flavor of him. She pulled back with a wistful sigh, and he made a little snuffling sound. Still asleep.

One last stroke of her thumb across his cheek, and she climbed out of bed. Affairs of state didn’t wait for affairs of a more pleasant nature. She shifted the light robes she wore at night – at his insistence; she would’ve preferred nudity – to the more formal robes she wore throughout the palace in the daytime.

“I will return this evening,” she informed the sleeping vampire out of some strange sense of obligation. “Sleep well.”

She’d left Spike’s bedroom only a few minutes before one of his eyes cracked slowly open. Coast clear. Right.

Scrambling out of bed, he headed for the bathroom, thumb rubbing absentmindedly over his lower lip. He could still taste her there faintly. It was an alien taste, but one he was getting used to. It reeked of power, but also a certain sweetness whenever she interacted with him. Damn. She was treating him less like a concubine every day and more like a husband. Double damn.

The mirror was blank as he stood before it, brushing his teeth. He spat into the sink, poured water on his face, and – grumbling – muttered one word: “Unicorn.”

Instantly, a soft mumble of voices sounded around him. It _felt_ like there were invisible talking spirits in the room, but he knew that was just an illusion created by the magic. He looked up into the mirror again, and this time he could see something hidden there. He could still see the bathroom, yes, but it was superimposed with the image of the Resistance meeting room. Several members appeared to be on watch that morning, including…

“Spikey!” Harmony squealed in delight.

“Harm,” he agreed with a sigh.

She unabashedly looked him up and down in his shirtless state. “Long time no see…”

He rolled his eyes. “Fiancé?” he reminded her.

“I’ll have you know,” she retorted huffily, “that it’s normal for all women – single or no – to notice attractive men. It’s, like, empowered or something. I read it in a book.”

He couldn’t help but smile softly at that. “Got a few things to report,” he got back on track.

“Oh, do tell,” Harmony said excitedly. Apparently, she viewed this whole spy thing as the ultimate form of giggly gossip. Which, really, had been a smart more on soon-to-be-hubby’s part. Facts and figures flew right by Harm, but when she thought it was a bit of juicy gossip being dished… It was astonishing. She could actually name all eighteen of Jennifer Lopez’s ex-husbands, complete with dates, bios, and all. She had quite a memory when she had a mind to use it.

“Dear old Knoxy’s acting up.” Spike said the name with a sarcastic roll of his eyes.

Harmony’s nose scrunched up in distaste as well. Fred had been her girl friend – OK, only for that one night – but still! Knox had killed her, and Harmony was appropriately outraged and vengeful.

“Think he’s about to blow. I’m pissin’ him off the best I can. And ‘Liri won’t let him touch me. It’s kinda beautiful…”

Harmony grinned. “Get him for me, too. And, y’know…Fred.”

They exchanged a brief sad look.

“This Kirazi bloke’s up to more no good, too,” Spike turned back to his report. “Apparently, he’s been sendin’ propaganda into the military barracks. No one’s much pleased about that…”

“Propa…?”

“Ganda.” Spike sighed. “He’s tellin’ them all how to turncoat.”

“Hello? English?”

“He’s trying to get Illyria’s troops to work for him. Sending in secret messages with promises and bribes,” Spike explained in a trite, irritated voice.

“And you couldn’t just say that like a normal person?” Harmony retorted.

His jaw ticked, and he had to take a deep breath to calm himself again.

“So,” Harmony went on as if everything were just peachy, “did you get that info on Kirazi we wanted?”

He sighed. “Looks like you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, siding with that one,” he offered. “Slayers tried it right before they got blown off the face of the earth. Bloke’s not willing to put his full support behind anyone but him as ruler of earth.”

“Ya-huh.” Harmony was taking careful notes at the other end. “What else?”

“He’s another Old One,” Spike rattled off all the facts he’d picked from Illyria’s brain the previous evening. “Apparently, old Drogyn’s not doing his best guardin’ the Deeper Well. Rumor has it his followers saw ‘Liri come back, and took that as a sign to overrun the planet with demons. Delightful lot.”

“Yeah.” Harmony’s nose crinkled. “It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to replace one overbearing dictator with another. Just a thought.”

“Such insight,” he muttered under his breath impatiently. “Kirazi and Illyria have a bit ‘f history. Seems they’ve been doing this dance since humans started walking on two feet. It was a case of too little too late this time, though. Kirazi’s pretty well banished from this dimension. He’s poking around, looking for ways to nab Illyria’s Kingdom, yeah, but he’s not having much luck yet.”

Harmony murmured a disinterested affirmative.

“One thought you’ll want Danny-boy to consider…”

Harmony instantly perked up at the name of her fiancé. And their leader, of course.

“We finally get rid of the Blue Wonder, we don’t want the Red One stepping into her shoes.”

“Red and the huh now?”

“Red One. Kirazi. If we boot Illyria, he may well invade.” Spike sighed. “Not a pretty picture.”

“We hafta fight _both_ of them?” Harmony whined in complaint.

“Looks like it,” he agreed. “Although you seem to have some right nifty magics. Must be some way to keep Kirazi locked out.”

Harmony jotted a note down. “I will totally tell Dan as soon as he gets back. He can take care of it. He can take care of anything.” An enamoured little squeal escaped her lips.

Spike decided to reserve his judgement until he next saw the guy, just to get a knowledgeable opinion on the matter.

“So what else?” Harmony inquired politely.

“Not much,” he conceded. “’ve been a bit preoccupied with…er…” He trailed off, somewhat embarrassed. Amazing just how much time an amorous goddess could consume.

“’Kay-ee,” Harmony flipped closed her notebook. “So how’re you doing?”

He shrugged. “Not bad. You? When’s this wedding?”

“June,” Harmony answered perkily. “But I don’t suppose you’re gonna be able to make it, huh?”

“Given that ‘m locked up in this hellhole, probably not,” he agreed. “Best of luck, though, in case I don’t see you before then.”

“Aww…” She fluttered her eyelashes. “That’s so _sweeeet_!”

A low growl escaped his chest.

“Or, er, evil,” she quickly corrected. “Or…heroic? What are you going for these days, anyway?” she asked, perplexed.

“No clue,” he admitted wearily. “Just going with the flow, y’know? Doing whatever…” _She would’ve wanted._ He kept that last thought to himself.

“Well, have fun with that!” Harmony countered cheerfully. “Look, boobie, I’d love to keep chatting, but we’ve got someone else trying to deliver a report. So, bye?”

He nodded. “Unic—“ Paused. “You’re _sure_ there’s no way to change the bleedin’ password?”

Harmony rolled her eyes. “It’s an obscure term that _no one_ uses in common conversation,” she insisted. “Now, shut up that stupid ‘I’m the Big Bad’,” she affected a dorky voice for a few seconds, “image of yours, and go with the flow. ‘Kay?”

He sighed. “Fine.”

“Bye, smoochkins!” she waved.

He practically choked in disbelief at that nickname. “Unicorn,” he managed to cough out. While grumbling all the while. It really was quite impressive.

The image in the mirror flashed out until all he could see was the bathroom again. Sudden silence flooded the room, as the audio transmissions ended. And, with a sigh, he went to get dressed. Nothing more he could do until he went out to nab more information…

* * *

Illyria sighed contentedly as Spike joined her in bed that evening. The brief relaxing period after the Slayers’ defeat had now quite thoroughly ended, as Kirazi seemed to make a new move each day. She was more grateful than ever that she’d finally broken through that initial layer of stubbornness that kept her half-breed from her side. Her consort seemed to be the only one who gave her any peace these days. Spending quiet evenings with him was the only reprieve she got from the increasingly vicious border skirmishes.

“You seem tense,” he commented absentmindedly as he settled in beside her.

“My dominion becomes more difficult to maintain,” she answered absentmindedly. She was more concerned by his bare chest, and the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips. Smooth, sleek muscle. Quite delightful…

He bit back a gasp of pleasure when her fingers strayed to one nipple, stroking it playfully. “Rough day at the office, huh?”

She cocked her head to one side. “You could say that,” she agreed. One hand stayed at his chest, while the other grew bolder, slipping ever lower. He caught it before she reached her destination, however.

“None of that,” he reminded her.

She let out a wistful sigh, then. “You share my bed every night, yet you still deny me the pleasures of your body?” she asked rhetorically.

“That was the deal.”

“Indeed.” Already, she regretted that deal. She felt the need to lose herself in him that night, to relieve the growing tension within her with pleasures of the flesh. Pleasures of _his_ flesh. She was finding it increasingly frustrating that he still denied her what she most craved.

“Here now.” He saw the disappointment in her eyes and, well, he wasn’t heartless. He sat up and pulled her up against him. His hands came to rest on her shoulders from behind, and he began gently kneading the muscles. “Tell Spike all about it,” he encouraged.

She lay back against him and let herself relax. As an alternative, this little back massage was really quite acceptable. “I fought vaalians this day,” she began, sounding uncharacteristically distressed.

“Oh? Why’s that, luv?” he inquired curiously.

“Kirazi’s army has survived intact, as well. I attempted to block his access to this dimension in hopes of barring him from his temple. I failed.”

“More humans infected, huh?” Spike sighed. “They’re not having a good century here…”

She frowned. “I would have suspected the same had I not seen Kirazi’s army. He has blended his warriors with the demonic inhabitants of his current domain. Their appearance is…different.”

 _Great, humans-turned-vaalians or demons-turned-vaalians. Such a lovely choice there._ Spike didn’t say any of it aloud, though, because it was rare that she divulged this much information about the battles she faced.

“You win, then?” he inquired.

“Kirazi has withdrawn for the moment,” she conceded. “We have delayed the final battle.”

Ah. She was back to being vague and overly-dramatic. Lovely.

She sat up abruptly, and he let his hands fall back. With precise slowness, she turned to face him. “Your caresses are pleasing, but I desire more.”

“This again?” he sighed, rolling his eyes heavenwards. “I told you, luv. ‘m not about to…” He trailed off with a hiss of pleasure when her hand came to rest on his… _Bugger!_ He’d gotten hard just having her in his lap, and he hadn’t noticed a damn thing. Now, that was carelessness if he’d ever seen it.

A lustful gleam entered her eye, and she crawled up the bed over him, each move seductively predatory.

“Here, now!” He objected, scootching further back along the pillows. His back quickly crashed against the headboard. “Just because… That doesn’t mean that you get to…”

Despite his incoherence, she seemed to understand him. Even more remarkably, she accepted his refusal. “I claim your kiss,” she informed him. “Nothing more.”

That much he could live with. Their lips had made more or less consensual contact at least a dozen times now. And it wasn’t something he could really fight her on.

She was smiling now, smirking almost. A blue and auburn curtain surrounded his face, and he was surprised to find it scented. Some sort of floral shampoo or perfume? Whatever it was, it was pretty. Helped cover up that almost complete void she left for his nose. He breathed deep appreciatively.

“Eyaal informed me you enjoyed scents.” Illyria’s eyes glinted with satisfied mirth, and then her lips leaned in to press against his, soft and innocent at first.

He couldn’t help but be a bit touched that she’d thought of him. The grand dictator of the whole bloody world had prettied herself up to please him. It was quite an ego boost, and he hadn’t had one of those since… Well, at least since before Dru had dumped him.

And her kiss was…nice. Surprisingly nice. Demons weren’t supposed to kiss like that; they were supposed to… And then he shook himself. He knew demons _could_ kiss like that. He done it enough himself, right?

And, as his racing thoughts slowed, he began to realize that she wasn’t pulling away. Indeed, one hand came up to catch him by the back of the neck to pull him in deeper. He didn’t fight her, holding her body against his as well now, feeling her soft curves beneath that skimpy little shift she wore to bed. His tongue flicked out to taste her lips, surprised that they had such a definitive flavor. And this wasn’t artificial, like the scent. No, this was actual Illyria taste. Subtle and cool to his taste buds.

Her tongue met his, and he gasped when the two blue tongs that formed the serpentine fork wrapped around him. Most definitely pleasurable.

Illyria sunk into his body with relief when he began kissing her back. She’d watched him do this with other women for hours at times, but he’d never responded to her in this manner. Now, however, his mouth had turned fierce against hers, and – to her surprise and delight – with a groan of frustration, he caught her up in his arms and rolled them over, pinning her down to the bed beneath him as their kiss deepened further.

There was something incredibly satisfying to feeling his weight above her that she couldn’t quite describe. A deep intimacy, a _connection_ that defied all words. She could touch him better this way, more completely than her hands could ever accomplish on their own. In some small hope that he would lose himself to this passion, she spread her legs, and he slid easily between them. Even closer than before. Her entire body reveled in his touch.

Spike knew this was going to far, knew he had to turn back soon. Her bare inner thigh was rubbing against him through his jeans, and if he didn’t stop her, he was going to lose himself. But her body was so soft and warm, and her tongue was downright _sinful_ against his, and her hands were roaming the skin of his back now, nails clutching at him in that perfect mixture of pain/pleasure. And, really, would it be so bad just for one night to—?

“Your Highness! The palace has been infiltrated by…” The intruder’s voice came to an abrupt halt when he saw what they were doing.

Spike and Illyria started simultaneously at the unexpected newcomer. Both internally chastised themselves for letting themselves go so far that they’d become completely oblivious to the opening and closing of the door, to the scent of human in the air.

“What?” Illyria snapped, pushing Spike to the side as she sat up in bed, clutching the sheet to her chest in some instinctive gesture left over from her human days.

Knox – for he was the messenger – just gaped, realizing what he’d walked in on. Spike lit up a cigarette and grinned at the little traitor. No, he decided, dear old Knoxy probably thought he’d just seem something much more naughty. Something he’d been fantasizing about doing to Illyria from day one. _Worship, my ass…_ Rather than glare at the intruder, Spike sidled up to Illyria, nuzzling her hair affectionately, showing that little brat everything he wasn’t getting…

Illyria’s hand to his thigh eventually stilled him, however. “Repeat your message,” she demanded, irritated at being disturbed and at her Qwa’ha Xahn for standing there mute and wasting her time.

“K-Kirazi,” Knox finally stuttered to. “He’s infiltrated the palace magics somehow! Treacherous messages have been appearing all over the—”

He didn’t get to finish because right then one of the messages in question popped into existence right in the middle of Spike’s living room. The three of them blinked at the magical projection, faded and see-through rather like a hologram.

Spike frowned at it curiously. It had obviously been a human man once, but fiery red splotches marred its skin just like the blue ones on Fred’s body. There was no doubt whatsoever as to who this was.

“I am Kirazi, ruler of Marendon,” a booming voice informed its audience unnecessarily. “You toil and serve under another Old One such as myself. But freedom is within your grasp. Join my forces and win riches beyond your wildest dreams. Illyria’s spies will not find you; her magic couldn’t even prevent this transmission. Join with me by swearing your oath of loyalty, and my agents will find you. Together, a glorious future awaits us, free of Illyria’s tyranny.”

The projection shimmered and faded, obviously a pre-set message designed to do exactly that. Since sending Illyria herself that message obviously wasn’t going to do Kirazi a lot of good. In fact, Spike was pretty sure the message had been meant for him, personally. Great, just what he needed. To be a _triple_ agent…

Illyria’s head cocked to one side as she quickly reached similar conclusions as to the message’s intended audience.

“What?” Spike demanded defensively. “Rat boy over there said it’s been poppin’ up all over the place.”

Even Knox had to grudgingly concede that. “Over fifty occurrences in the past ten minutes. And that’s just in the palace. He’s spreading propaganda like wildfire.”

Illyria’s lighter mood turned cold, and she transformed back into her body armor. “This challenge will not go unanswered, nor this insult unpunished,” she announced, abandoning her consort’s bed. “You,” she glared at Knox, “will block this magic immediately. And you,” she turned suspicious eyes on Spike, “will accompany me. We will denounce these lies.”

Knox scampered away immediately, and Spike scrambled for his clothes, following Illyria’s imperious form down the hallways. Whatever Kirazi’s intent had been, he’d sure pissed Her Blueness off right good. And stirred up her entire army to boot.

It had possibilities. Interesting possibilities…


	7. Diplomacy and Whiskey

Illyria stood, proud and tall, the wind whistling through her blue-streaked hair, atop the speaker’s tower at the center of Illea, the holy city. The small tower only rose several stories, but it stood atop a hill, allowing onlookers to view the spectacle above for miles around.

And the crowds had gathered today, soldiers and workers alike, humans and vaalians and vampires, all curious as to the intruder whose words of treason had flooded the land the evening before.

Illyria faced them all, regaled in full body armor, her face so calm and composed that even Spike’s discerning eye couldn’t read her thoughts. She looked immovable in that moment, all-powerful, _divine_.

The crowds bubbled with chatter at first but eventually calmed, their curiosity outweighing their desire for gossip.

Illyria looked down at them and began. “My people,” her voice was precise, clear, and could be heard for far longer than was humanly possible. _Magic_. “Yesterday, an enemy of our Kingdom presented you with a great lie. I will not do the same. Kirazi is an Old One, true, but his cowardly message reveals that he is no true king. He is unworthy to walk the halls of Illea, to sit at the high throne of Vahla Ha’nesh. And so he sneaks about by night, not like a god, but like a thief. He offers false hopes and promises. He is so weak that he must con you through his lies. But we are the people of the holy city, and we shall not fall for his sniveling tricks.”

Beside her, Knox started applauding, signaling the crowd to do so as well. Xaneth followed his lead quickly, and soon the rest of the crowd was as well. Spike merely stood at Illyria’s side, where he’d been dragged along into this little show, his left hand clutched tightly in her right.

Her choices of companions for this speech had obviously been chosen intentionally. A human, a vaalian, and a vampire. All the three major races of her Kingdom. Clever girl.

“Kirazi claims he will be a fairer, more just ruler,” Illyria continued when the applause had died down. “He says this even as he invades with demon spawn from another world. He would conquer us all, turn us into his slaves. Is this justice? That our human world be ruled by demons who have never set foot on our soil? He names me a demon ruler, as well, and in part he is accurate. But human blood once pulsed through this shell – through the shells of all standing here.” She gestured to a large vaalian contingent to the front and left of the podium. “This world is still human, for we still remember our human roots. And we will fight for our world.”

Well, _that_ certainly went over well with the humans in the audience. Funny thought, Illyria as the human populist ruler. But in a warped way, it sort of worked. She was certainly more so than Kirazi…

“We have fought and struggled since my ascension,” Illyria’s voice picked up at the end of the cheers. “We have warred against each other more often than we should. But we have found peace now. We are not slaves – none of us – we are a society, a world, a Kingdom, and we will not become slaves to Kirazi’s tyranny.”

She pulled on Spike’s hand, drawing him closer to her, a ghost of a smile on her face. Her consort didn’t seem to like public speaking much more than he liked large social gatherings. She was fortunate she didn’t need him to speak.

“ _All_ of us – vampire, human, and vaalian alike – live together in harmony for the first time in millennia. Not since the earth was young have all races been treated as equals, and this is our strength. We will stand together, fight together, and we shall not be conquered.”

The applause was fully genuine this time, and she lifted Spike’s hand up to her lips, kissing his knuckles gently. An obvious gesture to indicate just how well she managed inter-species cooperation. It was also a tender gesture, more so than she’d ever made in public before, perhaps the first time she’d let her entire Kingdom see an inkling of the humanity that still lived within her…

The speech had been a riotous success.

Clips of that little kiss were on the news every five minutes.

Already people in the street were calling Kirazi a coward, laughing that he ever thought that a cheap magic show with flashing lights would _ever_ influence the people of the holy city. Completely forgetting, of course, the uncertainly that they themselves had experienced that first night.

The day seemed to be won for Illyria.

Spike frowned and turned off the television. It had been a week since that speech now, since he’d been touted about as an example of Illyria’s new multicultural world. That people believed this myth astounded him. Humans were still at the bottom of the pecking order, workers and laborers. And, if they didn’t watch themselves, lunch. Vampires and other ‘low’ demons were given enough hunting leniency to keep them pacified, but he was the only one he could name in any position of power. Certainly the only one who lived in the palace. And the vaalians, Illyria’s ‘high’ race, ruled over them all, reaping the benefits of all below them. No, it wasn’t a very level playing field at all. But Illyria had painted a pretty picture that day…

“You are still troubled?” she inquired pointedly, head tilted to one side as he studied him. Whatever modern colloquial patterns she’d used in her speech had vanished the instant she no longer needed to seem human for an audience. “We have crushed our enemy beneath our boots, made him a joke for even the lowliest of half-breeds.”

“Just great there, ‘Liri,” he retorted sarcastically, flicking off the TV.

A dim blue light passed through the room then, a shimmering wall that swept the palace, protecting it from all future transmissions Kirazi might try to send. It was hell on his television reception. And, more importantly, it meant that he couldn’t use that neat little communicator he’d swallowed a while back. The magical patrol occurred at random as far as he could tell, and he could never guess when the next sweep was coming. Which, he supposed, was the point.

It had left him gloomy, though, feeling despair that his situation would ever change. He knew the Resistance wouldn’t buy Illyria’s little act, but it might make it harder for them to recruit. And that wasn’t very encouraging, either…

“You are irrational,” she informed him, sitting on the edge of the bed. “We have triumphed. We shall celebrate.”

He sighed. “Not much in the mood for celebratin’,” he retorted, his tone chilly.

Illyria was becoming exasperated with him. Stubbornness was amusing up to a point, but this brooding he’d taken to served no purpose whatsoever. She’d spoken with Eyaal and Veriou about the problem – they dealt often with the day-to-day needs and behaviors of half-breeds – and had come up with what she hoped was a solution.

“I present my consort with a gift this night.” She sat back on the bed, the thin strap of her light shift slipping down one shoulder.

He scoffed. “That’s your wet-dream, luv, not mine.”

“I refer not to myself.” She smirked. “Although I am honored that you would find my body a gift.”

He snorted, mildly amused as well.

“No, I have consulted with the palace staff and had them bring in a special import for you,” she explained, turning to the far side of the bed and pulling out the large wooden box the palace staff had left there earlier that day. Only the slightest application of muscle was necessary for her to pop off the top. “I believe you call it ‘whiskey’?”

Spike perked up almost instantly at that. “Thought you vaalian-types didn’t cater to liquor.”

Illyria opened the bottle and sniffed at it in distaste. “The vaalians to not intentionally poison their bodies. Nor do I.” She smiled when he crawled onto the bed beside her, and handed him the bottle. “However, I noticed that it seemed to give you pleasure at the V’n Hara celebration last month.”

He gave her a suspicious look, shrugged, and took a deep swig. The whiskey burned his throat and belly, warming him from within. Damn, it tasted good. After all this time…

“You truly enjoy it?” Illyria watched him, puzzled by this odd example of half-breed behavior.

“’S bloody brilliant, pet,” he assured her. “You don’t know what you’re missin’.”

She shook her head and lay down across the mattress, watching him drink. “You enjoy my gift?”

“Yeah…” He sat back against the headboard and felt his entire body relax. An affectionate smile quirked at the corners of his lips, and he didn’t fight it. “That was sweet of you, bluet.”

She nodded in satisfaction while he studied him with his newest pleasure. The smell of the liquor still overwhelmed her, and not in a pleasant way. But the way the tension seemed to drain from his body, the way his smiles slowly became more seductive, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed at his drank… Every little physical response was fascinating to her. And soon she found that the smell wasn’t so difficult to overcome after all, once one grew used to it.

“Sometimes,” he commented philosophically, now halfway through the bottle, “a good drink’s the only way to relax, y’know? Pushes all the worries aside like nothin’ else can…”

“I experience that effect in your presence,” she admitted, her cheek resting lightly against his thigh. Her Kingdom was still hers, and wholly hers, but every day it seemed one more threat tried to topple her…

“Frankly, you stress me out, pet,” he countered. His tongue was a bit loose now, he knew, but he didn’t care. “Resistin’ all the time what with you being tempting and naked and beautiful… And naked.” He added, completely obvious to the fact that he’d said that last one twice.

“I have seen your body become aroused at the sight of mine,” she agreed, somewhat disappointed to learn that she caused him distress when all he brought her was peace. “If you did not struggle, perhaps you would not suffer so.”

“Yeah,” he agreed lazily. With a final sip, he finished off the bottle. “You got more?”

“We will save it for later,” she insisted softly. He’d lain down with those words, and the feel of his body, close and warm with liquor, was not something she wanted to give up any time soon.

“Mmm…” He didn’t protest, much to her surprise. “Yeah…” He slowly continued his earlier thought. “But I can’t give in, see, luv?”

“My optical pathways are functioning properly.” She frowned.

He frowned, too, trying to puzzle through her train of thought. It wasn’t easy half-drunk, but he finally figured out where the conversation had turned. “No, no. ‘See’ means ‘understand’.”

“The two words have distinct definitions.”

“Yeah, but when someone says ‘see what I mean’, they mean ‘do you understand what I mean’,” he insisted.

“Your language is arbitrary and inefficient.”

He frowned, then smiled. “Yup,” he agreed, nuzzling her hair now. “’S beautiful like that, too…”

“No.”

“No, ‘s not?” he sounded disappointed.

“No, I do not ‘see’ why you must resist,” she corrected. She fought back the urge to laugh. He acted oddly when he had consumed this liquid substance, and it was most entertaining. She didn’t know how he’d react to her laughter, however, and she didn’t wish for him to stop his unusually affectionate attentions.

“Well, see…” He chuckled when he used the word again, and she gave him an annoyed little look. “You’re a demon.” He pointed at her accusingly. “And Slayer says demons are bad, right?”

“You are a demon,” she pointed out, puzzled. “In spirit, if not in form. Much like myself.” She didn’t add that her demon was of purer stock than his. Somehow that seemed unimportant when she dealt with him. He was a sum of more that his parts, and certainly more than his breeding.

“Yeah, but I had this soul…” He trailed off. “Must’ve lost it somewhere. Where’d it go?”

“My Qwa’ha Xahn removed it that you might better serve as my pet,” she explained.

“Right.” He nodded slowly, remembering. “Well, anyway, gotta keep good for Buffy, y’know?”

“I do not know. I do not understand.” Her voice was frustrated now. “This Slayer you speak of has been dead for over a decade. Her opinions are irrelevant.”

He frowned at the memory. Thankfully, this blissful daze he was in washed the sad thoughts away. “Love her, don’t I? Means I hafta do right by her, even now.”

“Do you not?” she asked, confused.

“Do I not what?”

She sighed and altered her vocal chords to the shape of his. “‘Love her, don’t I?’” she repeated in perfect mimicry of his voice.

He blinked in surprise. “Can you do anyone?” he wondered, suddenly excited, as if he’d found a new toy.

“Provided I have memory of their voice,” she agreed. She couldn’t decide whether he annoyed her less or more in this intoxicated state. The stubborn resistance appeared to be gone, but he became more easily distracted than ever. It made it most difficult for her to engage in conversation with him. “Answer my question.”

“Question? Oh…right. ‘Course I love her,” he insisted. “Got no one else…”

She frowned. “I do not comprehend this ‘love’,” she concluded. “The definition of the word is inadequate to explain your irrational adherence to a dead woman’s wishes.”

He blinked at her slowly, then. “Never been in love, have you?”

“I have experienced ‘deep, passionate affection for another person’,” Illyria quoted the best definition she could find in her memory.

He rolled his eyes. “Nope.” He just shook his head.

And, although she couldn’t explain why, Illyria found herself growing displeased with this conversation. Love was an irrelevant, human emotion in any case. His words were growing tiresome, and his body… Well, his body was responding quite nicely. Perhaps, they could engage in other forms of recreation.

She leaned in to kiss him. The taste of his lips was surprisingly pleasant given the alcohol he’d consumed. And his tongue was eager and quickly participated enthusiastically, wrapping around hers and joining in an epic battle.

She murmured her contentment, and her fingers traced up and down his chest, frustrated by the presence of his shirt. Had he been sober, he would’ve undoubtedly had the presence of mind to remove it before they reached this point. Her hands made do with the situation, however, and she found the hem and slipped up beneath it. His flesh was cool and firm to her touch, and it was almost more exciting this way, feeling what her eyes could not see.

He let out a little moan when she found one of his nipples, and soon his own hands were returning the favor. Illyria gasped when one hand slipped into her robe and found her breast. His fingers kneaded the flesh roughly, and his mouth covered hers more fully.

She allowed herself to fall back amidst the pillows and pulled his body atop hers. They hadn’t engaged in this much touching since before Kirazi’s infiltration, partly because she’d been occupied with more pressing matters and partly because he’d been rather depressed. She welcomed this return to where they’d left off now, though, and encouraged him to come in closer, deeper…

Her hands were getting persistent now, and Spike pulled back for a moment to yank off his shirt. He tossed it haphazardly to the side and looked down at her. She gave him a secretive little smile, blue eyes twinkling, and then both her hands were on him.

She wasn’t as hot as a human, true, but she was still hot to him. Her flesh seared his, and the whiskey warmed his brain, and in that moment he just didn’t care anymore. He had a beautiful, willing demoness in his arms. Honestly, what had been thinking all this time, fighting her off?

“You’re overdressed, luv,” he complained, nibbling at her neck, his tongue tracing the blue speckled stripes there.

She hummed with approval and had to fought to summon enough concentration to disrobe. She failed. This wasn’t good. Or, rather, it was _too_ good…

He chuckled. “Let me help you with that.” His hands caught the front of the fabric and ripped it apart, baring her body to him. He let out a hiss of anticipation, and she opened her eyes to watch him. The look on his face was purely awed, as if she were the first woman he’d ever seen.

“My form has not changed since you last viewed it,” she commented, puzzled by his reaction.

“Never been able to indulge myself before, though, have I?” he smirked.

She wondered what he meant, but then she didn’t care because his mouth descended on one breast, and she knew that this was bliss. His mouth was cool and wet, and he sucked on her hungrily. His tongue traced magical lines into her flesh, causing her to writhe beneath him. And then, when he finally turned his attention to her nipple, flicking at it rapidly with the very tip of his tongue, she lost it.

A ululating screech escaped her throat, and she caught her fingers in his hair roughly, pulling him in harder and holding him in place. His free hand came up to caress her other breast, working the flesh in perfect counterpoint to his mouth. The combined sensations were enough to slip her into a contented daze, and her grip loosened.

That, apparently, had been his intention all along because his mouth abandoned her then, and – in the time it took her to whimper in protest – found her other breast.

Eyelids half open, she stared up at the ceiling, feeling languid pleasure rush slowly through her limbs. She didn’t feel like a goddess then, the past and present ruler of the earth. She felt like a woman, a body. And one with a very talented lover at her disposal. Yes, this moment was absolutely perfect…

He pushed aside her torn robes further while he tasted the flesh of her breast. His fingers traced maps in her flesh, finding her most sensitive along the blue splotches that ran down the entire length of her body. His caresses focused upon them, running gently up and down the backs of her arms, then trailing across her collarbone down her sides, along the outer curve of her breasts, her hips…

He moved inward, then, barely brushing the dark blue curls at the apex of her sex to glide along the smooth, pale flesh at the insides of her thighs instead. She shivered beneath him. “Like that, bluet?”

“It is most pleasurable,” she agreed, the words broken with gasps for breath, belying their formality. “I desire m-more…”

“Do you now?” he teased, rising up to nibble at her shoulder. His voice turned husky as his lips brushed her ear. “Tell me what you want.”

She gasped, and a part of her tensed up. She didn’t think she could take it if he were so cruel to refuse her now. So, instead of answering, she asked, “Why?”

“Why what?” he persisted stubbornly.

“Why do you now touch me as I have wished from the beginning?”

“You object?” he teased.

She whimpered when his hands stopped for a moment. “No,” she hastily assured him.

“Neat thing about liquor,” he murmured. “It makes things less complicated.”

“You only desire me because you have become intoxicated,” she concluded.

“Nuh-uh,” he smirked, “just am worryin’ less about the consequences of my actions right now…” He looked down to where her palm cupped her breast, gazing at her with open fascination and desire.

She could see that he was hard and eager, and it excited her. “You would copulate with me then?” she demanded.

He grinned, teeth gleaming white, tongue curling seductively. “Try it,” he challenged.

Her hands trailed down his chest, marveling at the smooth, pale flesh. He let out excited little hisses as she went, and she lingered upon the areas that brought him most pleasure. When her hands finally reached the sharp edge of his hipbones and the waistband of his jeans, she paused to look at him. His eyes were squeezed shut tight in obvious anticipation. The arm he used to prop himself up above her was tensed, the muscles tight and waiting.

She ventured down further, far further than she’d ever been allowed. A muscle in his cheek twitched, and he gasped when her hand palmed his jean-clad erection.

“You like that?” she repeated his own question for earlier, savoring her moment of victory.

“Fuck, yeah…” he breathed.

It was all the encouragement she needed. Her fingers deftly unfastened the top button, pulled down his strained zipper, and then he was in her hand, long and pale and perfect. He continued to let out little growls of pleasure as she stroked him, kicking off his jeans as he did so.

She found herself fascinated by the length of him, by his hardness. She’d seen him before – aroused, even – but never on account of her, never when she was so close, when she could touch him to her heart’s content. It was most… _gratifying_.

His fingers returned to the junction of her thighs, and this time he didn’t deny her. _Just like a human woman_ , he realized with some surprise. Her clit throbbed with anticipation against his thumb, and he circled it, flicked at it hard. She let out that little cry again, and he kept at it. Found her wet and eager while he was down there, fingers dipping into her depths. Testing the waters, so to speak.

“Tell me what you want,” he repeated breathlessly, his hips now thrusting slowly in and out of her hand, his fingers within her mimicking their motions.

“You will not deny me?” she asked cautiously.

“Fuck, no! You see the state you’ve got me in, luv…”

“Then, I wish for you to insert your masculine appendage into this body as deeply as possible,” she answered, rolling her hips up against him in anticipation. His shaft brushed her inner thigh as she did so, and their continued separation almost became too much for her to bear.

“Want me to fuck you good?” he growled, following his crude words with a thrust of his hips.

If something within him required that he use such base terminology, she would not deny him. “Yes.”

“Want it hard?”

“That would be pleasurable,” she agreed.

“Say it,” he demanded vehemently.

She almost objected then. She was queen, goddess, and he merely her consort. But the look in his eyes… Some part of him _needed_ this, needed some bit of power over her. And she couldn’t deny that, in this one area, he did hold the power.

“I wish for you to fuck me good and hard,” she repeated, the words sounding awkward and out of place on her tongue.

It was good enough for him. With a roar of relief and victory, he plunged inside her, deep and fast.

She cried out at his intrusion, her hands clutching at his shoulders. He caught hold of her wrists, then, forced them back onto the pillows above her head. She complied, her body still reveling in being filled, completed at long last.

Spike stilled himself for a moment, getting accustomed to the feel of her. She was like nothing he’d ever felt before. He could almost _feel_ the power of her body crackling around him, and he had to count to ten before he could move again.

When he did begin thrusting, she moved with him, driving him ever deeper. She took him easily right up to the hilt, and his balls smacked again her flesh with each thrust. Heaven and hell all in one, tight, wet, and completely forbidden. God, he wanted more…

A keening wail escaped her lips as he moved harder and faster. She complied with his wishes, clutching at the sheets on either side of her head. He wished to dominate her, and she let him, wrapping her legs about his waist, placing the balls of her feet against the cheeks of his ass and pushing him harder, helping him take her.

He kept his eyes riveted to hers and slipped one arm around her waist. With a possessive growl, he lifed her hips off the bed while driving into harder than ever before. She cried out, teeth clenched, body trembling, and he plowed her like that, took every drop of pleasure he could get.

Christ, she was so tight, so hot, so responsive…

And then he found the seat of her pleasure and attacked it mercilessly, and in only seconds she was screaming, keening, shaking. He felt flashes of her power explode around them, in _him_. Time and space seemed to bend and shift, and it was incredible. Transcendent.

He couldn’t hold back any longer, and he roared out his pleasure, buried deep inside her, milking her orgasm out as long as he could.

She reached up for him in that final moment, clutched him down her, crushed their bodies together as they fell through oblivion and slowly, gently back to the palace and his bed…

“My consort,” she murmured softly when she had breath enough to speak. “My lover…”

He let her hold him, breathing heavily, mind spinning. All his decades of unlife, and it had _never_ been like that before. _Actually shagged yourself a genuine goddess_ , some giddy part of his brain registered.

“I had always known you would be superb in your sexual performance,” she continued to hold onto him.

“Superb?” he murmured lazily, rising above her once more. “Oh, blue, you haven’t seen a _thing_ yet…”

And he was right. She hadn’t. Fortunately for her, he spent the rest of the night showing her in detail.


	8. Hate and Love

Some part of him – and not just the horny part – had wanted to.

That was the conclusion Spike reached that morning when he awoke to find a completely nude Illyria collapsed atop his equally nude body, his semi-hard cock still half inside her. He’d frozen for a moment in abject horror.

 _Got me drunk on purpose, took advantage of me…_ Similar accusations ran through his mind.

But, in the end, he hadn’t had enough to have gotten himself _that_ drunk. Just enough to wipe away pesky inhibitions. And he’d taken full advantage of them the instant they were gone.

Last night left Spike more confused than anything, really. Well, except sore and tired. Although apparently Junior was doing his bravest to overcome his fatigue. But still, why, when the first opportunity came up to have his fun guilt-free, had he leapt upon it so quickly?

Despair? There was an element of that, yeah. Illyria was more popular with the people – _all_ peoples – now than she ever had been. Nothing like an outside enemy to make more closely related enemies band together. At that moment in time, it felt impossible for him to ever dislodge the would-be goddess from her seat of power. Battle finally over, lives lost in an ultimately futile pursuit…

Helplessness? He’d certainly been feeling plenty of that lately. Hooking up with the Resistance had brightened his spirits as of late, given him some hope of change. Even seeing that Harm had made it, that every single person he’d ever known wasn’t dead, had cheered him. They were probably pretty gloomy right now, too. Quite possibly the only other people on this planet who _were_ depressed by Illyria’s rousing speech. And here he was, cut off and isolated from them, stuck with a demoness who couldn’t possibly imagine that anyone would be less than overjoyed at her triumph. He cursed her latest little magical patrol measures. Although they _did_ feel nice when the sensor field ran over his dick right while she was… Right. Bad train of thought. Moving on.

Frustration? This had to a big one. He’d had his poke at Eyaal weeks ago now. It felt like a lifetime ago. And Illyria had the nerve to be gorgeous and naked far more often than she should. It got tiring trying to resist her all the time. Not to mention the obvious pleasurable benefits of finally giving in…

Resignation? They’d talked about Buffy last night, he could remember. Talked about how she was dead. He could think about that clearly now, after all these years. About how they were all dead. Some part of him wanted to keep their memories alive above all else. Another part was sick of living with all this pain. They were dead, time to get over it, to live again. And, really, Blue had a decent point. What _was_ the point of trying to live up to the expectations of a woman who had been dead for fourteen years? A woman who hadn’t loved him no matter what he’d done…

Comfort? Thoughts of Buffy and death always brought him down. Was it so wrong to take the comfort Illyria offered? She wanted him; he needed something to take his mind off his troubles. Buffy had done the same to him once. A dark little secret he tried to keep buried deep inside, but never quite could. Why couldn’t he be the one to take advantage just this once?

Revenge? Oh, that was an interesting one. Because as much as he’d ever loved Buffy, a part of him despised her for what she’d done to him, how she callously destroyed him. It had kept him from going back to her all those years ago when that dorky lawyer and that liaison with the weird mouth had brought him back from what should’ve been his final death. So was this the ultimate revenge? Screwing the demoness who’d finally managed to do Buffy in?

Ego? That entered the picture, too, when he thought those thoughts. After all, he’d banged himself a _goddess_. Just the thought made him giddy. Ruler and master of the entire not-free world had taken it from him from behind and begged for more. Nothing wrong with puffing up with pride at that fact, was there?

In the end, Spike couldn’t sort through any of it, and he figured it was probably a bit of all. He didn’t let his mind wander to softer explanations, how she’d become his only companion, a friend of strange sorts. He refused to even process thoughts like those.

So, instead, he watched her sleep.

He didn’t get to do much of that. She slept much less than he did, and inevitably she left bed before he woke up in the morning. Today was a rare reversal. She didn’t sleep like he did, like humans did. Rather, her body froze, almost statue-like, and one could’ve indeed mistaken her for a sculpture. Sometimes she even left her eyes open. More like she’d left a vacant shell than that she was still in there, just sleeping.

Today her eyes were shut and her lips had ended up mere millimeters from his left nipple. As he breathed slowly beneath her, their softness brushed against his flesh, exciting him further. Her hair cascaded outward in a blue-and-brown wave across his arm and shoulder. It was surprisingly soft, just like her body was.

The knuckles of his right hand came up to brush away one thin strand of hair that fell forward. It looked like it should’ve itched her nose like crazy, but then Illyria didn’t sneeze, probably didn’t tickle. The question of whether she _did_ tickle preoccupied him then, and he developed the sudden urge to find out, but even he wasn’t _that_ suicidal. Just in case she was.

She was still wet around him. And he was growing ever harder, looking at that tiny, sleeping body in his arms.

These last observations quickly consumed him, and a debate raged within him. Have fun with her while she was unconscious? Wake her up – however one managed that – so that she could join in the fun time? Run now and wank off in the bathroom?

The last seemed silly at this point. Whatever cosmic brownie points he’d been picking up by resisting her advances had all gone to hell last night. No point in continuing to suffer when he’d already lost the battle. Not that he wasn’t known for doing exactly that…

His options narrowed to one then, though, because suddenly she stirred. Her blue eyes blinked to life robotically, and her entire body tensed as her full might filled it once more.

And, when he said her entire body tensed, he meant _everything_. Including those delightful inner muscles that had his cock caught in a stranglehold. He groaned at the erotic massage and thrust up into her instinctively.

Illyria became aware and smiled down at him. “You greet me this morning with pleasure,” she said, sounding more pleased by this than by the actual pleasuring he was doing. “You _are_ my En U’Eliq…”

“Call me anything you want, luv, just don’t leave me hangin’ like this.” His hips began to rock up slowly against hers.

Her smile widened. It was a different smile from Fred’s. Illyria never showed her teeth, never grinned outright. No, her smile was that of the divine finding something mildly amusing in the mortal world below. Brief humor and delight. He was getting used to seeing it.

“Your stamina is more admirable than even I had anticipated,” she complimented him, rising above him once more and riding him slowly. “You are a fitting lover for a goddess.”

“So glad you approve,” he retorted somewhat sarcastically, his hands reaching up to clutch at her hips, pulling her down harder. Christ, he could see _everything_ for this angle. Her pink little slit – deceptively human – taking his girth in inch by inch. Those dark blue curls tangled with his every time he buried himself all the way inside.

No way in hell of denying that he’d gone all the way and more last night…

They came quickly and roughly, Spike following only moments after her. Strangled cries escaped their throats, and hands scrambled for fresh as they rode out their ecstasy. Bodies collapsed, impossibly close, just waiting and breathing for minutes on end, slowly recovering…

“Exquisite,” Illyria finally murmured appreciatively, soft blue lips brushing his throat.

He sighed. She was unquestionably right. Nothing to say or do but lie here and enjoy the afterglow. It seemed Junior’s persistence had finally been defeated.

“I would spend the day in bed,” Illyria’s thoughts were echoing his, “were this shell not exhausted from last night.”

“Mmf,” he mumbled against her hair. He didn’t want to think yet, to worry about what he’d done, what it meant.

“But the thought of leaving your side today displeases me,” she went on, frowning. “I am goddess. My word is law. We will enjoy today, even if physical copulation is impossible.”

He shrugged. Didn’t have an opinion one way or the other at that moment. Their bodies shifted slightly to become more comfortable, and they ended up side by side, foreheads almost pressing. He felt languid and comfortable like that. Sleepy. As long as he slept, he wouldn’t have to face the world and how he’d betrayed it…

“You are so easily tired?” she teased lightly, kissing one closed eyelid with more gentleness than he ever would’ve imagined she possessed.

“Weren’t you complimentin’ my stamina just a few minutes ago?” he shot back.

She shook her head. Stubborn still, just in a much more playful and pleasurable way. She approved. “Your performance has been far beyond adequate,” she agreed. “Your mobility the day after leaves a little to be desired, however.”

He grumbled. “Don’t see anything wrong with stayin’ in bed.”

She studied him, fingers running absentmindedly through platinum curls. “I wish to show you everything,” she finally decided.

He smirked at her. “Pretty sure I saw – and licked – every last inch of you last night.”

Her body temperature rose at the memories, and a part of her was astonished, and perhaps a bit frightened, that he had this easy power over her now. He could arouse with a word, crush with another. He could hurt her and please her more than ever before. The thought was alarming. It was also exciting, like playing with fire, beautiful pure wild fire…

“You have explored my vessel most efficiently,” she agreed. “My Kingdom still awaits.” Her lips brushed his. “I will show you all that is laid out at your feet. Yours for the asking and the taking…” She kissed him harder then, her lips and tongue plundering his.

He lay back and just let himself enjoy her. Didn’t struggle or fight back, just experienced. There was something very relaxing about just letting a woman have her way with his mouth like that…

“I will show you my holy city,” she concluded when she pulled away. She sat up, the sheet pooling around her waist, exposing her bare breasts to him.

He gulped. Lovely creature, powerful and raw and beautiful. A bit like a thunderstorm, perhaps. Dangerous and frightening, but stunning in its intensity…

And, wait a minute, had she just suggested they go _out_?

“Wait…” He blinked. “You’re lettin’ me out of your li’l palace?” It was too much to hope for and terrifying all at once. It seemed like it had been forever since he’d last been outside, free to wander as he wanted. Only fitting that a cruel quirk of fate gave him that opportunity as soon as he’d disgraced himself enough before the world that all he wanted to do was hide away.

“I trust that I can catch you when you try to run,” she joked lightly.

He couldn’t help it. He chuckled. Bluebird knew him too well… “Might be fun to be caught, luv,” he sat up and purred against her.

Her eyes widened, and her smile grew. He had just made an innuendo; she was confident of it. It was something she had seen him do with others, something this shell’s former occupant’s memories insisted was characteristic of his behavior. He had never acted so around her before, however.

“I believe it would,” she agreed, getting out of bed.

He watched her, nude and perfect, stand before him. Pretty view…

“How would you prefer I disguise myself?” she asked him, head tilted to one side.

“Disguise yourself?”

“It would be…disruptive to appear as I am within the city. I wish to travel unnoticed.”

He nodded. “What can you do?” he asked curiously.

She smiled. “Altering this form’s appearance is as simple as altering its outer garments.” With a thought, the shift he’d torn apart the night before reappeared whole over her body.

His expression fell when the naked show was over.

“Tell me what you would like,” she pleaded softly.

He gulped. Wasn’t _this_ an exciting new proposal? He considered his options carefully. “Well,” he pointed, “I s’pose the blue hair makes you stand out the most. Prob’ly need to change that up.”

She nodded. “What is your favorite color?”

“Try dark,” he suggested. And watched in amazement as her blue streaks faded into black until even the brown was a thick ebony. “Lovely…” he whispered in awe.

She smiled, happy that she’d found another way to please him. “What else?”

“Maybe shorten it a bit. Try shoulder-length.” She did. “Nice. Straighter?” Her ebony locks turned perfectly straight in a way that made his own platinum curls immensely jealous.

Her head angle straightened, brushing the long straight bangs out of her eyes. Speaking of which… “I alter my eyes as well.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “They look a bit demonic. Blue suits you, though. ‘d keep it, just tone in down a notch.” She did so, creating eyes almost exactly the same color as his. “And, of course, the blue skin…”

She smiled. “Indeed.” Her flesh all turned the pale color of the more human portions of her skin.

“And then your clothes,” he pointed out. “I doubt the humans run about dressed in goddess robes.”

“What shall I be today?” she teased lightly. “Beggar? Priestess? Laborer?”

“Whatever’s normal, luv.” He shook his head.

She sighed in exasperation and transformed into simple human clothes. The sort everyday people had been wearing for several decades now. Blue jeans and a low-cut black shirt. Very pretty and ordinary and not divine at all.

“You must dress,” she reminded him, tossing his jeans in his direction.

“’d best shower first,” he retorted. “You may have your divine means, but the rest of us end up…sticky without regular baths.”

For a moment, she was tempted to join him. But then she remembered a more efficient use of her time. In an instant, she’d transformed back into her normal blue-haired self. “You will require disguise as well,” she commented. “The world knows your face…”

He frowned. “Thanks to your showboating,” he retorted. He got out of bed without a stitch of clothing and didn’t even feel self-conscious. “And I hate to break it to you, bluet, but ‘m not able to disguise myself so easily.”

She cocked her head to one side. “A simple glamour should suffice,” she decided. “I doubt many would identify you as my consort, if only your hair altered its shade.”

“I am _not_ dyeing—”

“A glamour,” she agreed, cutting him off. “Clean your body. I will provide one.”

Decision made, she set off out into the palace.

And, with a sigh, Spike went into the bathroom to clean up. Bloody hell. What had he gotten himself into?

* * *

Knox sat in his office in the great hall of Vahla Ha’nesh and considered his problem. It was such a simple problem, yet so complex. Namely, this was a secular world, and while even the most stubborn were forced to admit that Illyria was, indeed, ruler and master of this world, few held enough faith to name her Supreme Goddess as well. Human attendance at temple services was poor, and vampire attendance was perfectly dismal.

Of course, it didn’t help matters that his Goddess flaunted her affair with the vampire traitor for all to see. If it even was an affair…

Knox was of a split mind about this. Ever since Illyria’s interest in Spike had taken on this latest disturbing turn, he’d had the palace servants – many of whom were human and thus gave him the most loyalty of all the current ruling regime – keep careful eye on the pair. And it seemed, at least to the eyes of all the staff, that their Goddess and Spike were… Well, Knox wasn’t sure _what_ they were. It seemed they weren’t lovers in any conventional sense. But then, what were they?

The fact that Illyria might desire the vampire as more than a concubine was even more disturbing than the notion that his loyal and holy devotion to her had once more been passed up. But he’d seen them in action, as well. Their relationship – whatever it may be – was a pretty puzzle to him. Of course, he wouldn’t presume to be able to comprehend the divine machinations of a Goddess’ mind. That was pure arrogance.

His musings were interrupted by the arrival of the Holy One herself, and he rose hastily, straightening his robes anxiously as she approached.

“Your Qwa’ha Xahn is honored to—” he began with utmost reverence.

“Your humble greeting has been noted,” she cut in impatiently. “I hasten.”

“Of course, Divine One,” he agreed. “Whatever you need is—”

“My consort and lover requires a glamour spell,” she informed him out of hand, studying the magical objects that lined one wall. “Nothing complex. I wish to see his true features as we visit the city.”

Something in her demeanor changed when she talked about _that vampire_ , as Knox had taken to calling him. The divine cloak slipped a bit. A smile curved her lips. She talked as a woman would about a man. Perfectly disgraceful. Knox had no doubt that Spike was dragged her divinity down, forcing her into this substandard role. And he fumed at it, but he dared not say a word. Surely, she’d see the light eventually? After all, she _was_ divine, and she knew better than all of them…

“Whatever my Goddess requires,” he agreed softly. He kept quite a few glamours on hand, created by the High Priests of the temple. They were for use by spies and other state officials. Certain not for some strange ‘date’. But Illyria was Goddess, and he – for one – would not second-guess her.

He pulled a small, black orb from the wall. He fingers itched to pull the one the shelf above it. The blue orb there would burn _that vampire_ to dust within seconds. But he was Qwa’ha Xahn, High Priest, loyal in all things to his Goddess’ wishes. He just wished that _her_ wishes would straighten out soon…

“Just have him break the orb and think which alterations he wants to make,” Knox instructed her, handing the orb over. “The spell will last for eighteen hours. Is that what you needed?”

She smiled. “Most satisfactory,” she agreed before turning on him and exiting the temple. Never even gave him a backward glance.

Knox returned to his desk and tried not to think about his Goddess and _that vampire_ while he worked at the papers before him. It seemed even utopian societies had paperwork; some things no ruler, no matter how perfect, could get rid of completely. His work only half succeeded in distracting him. And, at first, he was grateful when one of his human spies requested to report to him. At first.

He beckoned for the guards to let the servant enter and smiled and gave the young woman two coins for her troubles. His smile dropped when he heard the bad news. The message was clear that day, marked in the tangled sheets of _that vampire_ ’s bed. His Goddess had been defiled and by a traitor.

Knox sent the servant away before he did her harm – good spies were so hard to come by in this palace – and raged against the facts laid before him. Perhaps Illyria was too far gone to see the vile creature she’d taken under her wing. Perhaps it was time for him to show her who her _true_ lover was.

Perhaps.

* * *

Spike’s common sense hit him with the hot water spray.

 _Collaborator._

The word hit him harder than it ever had before. He’d found almost as much relief in the end to Resistance communications as he had when he’d first contacted them, he now realized. It was difficult, torn between worlds, sending Illyria’s enemies information to be used to destroy her one minute, and sharing her bed the next. The communications blackout had been a blessing in a way. Made the decision for him, let him play with the delectable treat that had fallen at his feet.

The water pounded his sore muscles and washed her scent from his body, and his mind felt clear again and not hung-over in the slightest. He’d been weak last night. He knew it and was trying not to think it. He’d always thought of himself as strong. He’d denied his weakness when Dru kept dumping him and he kept coming back. When Buffy left him with words so sharp they turned her kisses to ash, only to beg for her to come back to him with open arms. And now, again, he was weak. It always seemed to be a woman who got to him.

Damn.

Damn, damn, damn.

He heard the door to his rooms open and knew that Illyria had returned. She’d want him to go out with her, would expect him to act like her lover. The Resistance would also be out there once he got into the city. And _they_ expected an ally.

And Spike took a deep breath, turned the shower off, and grabbed a towel. Somehow or other, he was going to have to figure out how to be both. Because he wasn’t a collaborator. And, sober once more, he wasn’t going to betray _their_ memory…


	9. A Walk in the Dark

With an overly-long and bizarre goodbye to the giant fern that had taken up residence in Spike’s living room, they set off for the city. He’d expected – as he followed her through the palace corridors – that they’d arrive at another of those teleporters, do their ‘beam me up, Scotty’ routine, and end up in the surrounding metropolis. But, instead, Illyria led them back into the innermost recesses of the palace, places locked off from him not because of their secrecy, but because of their mundane nature. Kitchens, servants' quarters, storage areas.

He puzzled over it all, following Illyria’s light footsteps, watching her deceptively human form before him. And, just because he could, he tried to memorize the route they were taking, but it seemed to him that something blocked his mind, kept him from keeping the precise order of things straight in his head.

When he commented on that, she laughed. Deep magic and safety procedures. So that even the most powerful of beings couldn’t see some of the doorways in the palace, even as they passed through them. As much to keep the servants from developing too much power over their overlords as it was to hinder those who didn’t belong in these places from entering.

Eventually, he gave up and took instead to glancing at every reflective surface they past. Because that was one of the wonders of the glamour spell he used. It made him superficially human, and part in parcel of the whole package was that he was casting a reflection for the first time in over a century. Of course, the image he saw reflected back didn’t look _exactly_ like him – hair a dark brown, skin flushed with life, features a bit distorted, blurred almost, to make him indistinguishable – but he found these reflections endlessly fascinating. He couldn’t imagine then that humans didn’t spend all their time looking in mirrors. Of course, he rationalized, they were all used to it. As he had been when he was alive.

Their wanderings through the palace ended with a long spiral staircase that seemed to twist downward to infinity, so that even to his vampire eyes it looked like nothing but blackness remained below. A stairway straight to the pits of hell.

They’d descended only several minutes – such was demonic speed – before they reached the bottom, and Illyria whispered so that even he could hear, “ _Lilanai_.”

An ancient word he didn’t understand, but the walls did. Slowly an opening so perfectly fitted that he hadn’t even been able to see the cracks in the marble opened wide. A door.

She reached back, took his hand, and they stepped out into the world.

It was dazzling to him at first. They hadn’t ended up in some palace courtyard or the like. No, they’d traveled through the wall that enclosed the palace and were instantly in the heart of the city. He looked back at the building they’d left, watched it tower high above them, and from its dimensions he could tell that the stairway they’d taken had been physically impossible. The high tower was simply too far from the surrounding wall for their journey to have occurred.

“Space and time bend all around us,” Illyria commented, tugging on his hand lightly.

He followed, feeling giddy all of a sudden.

Humans and vaalians milled about them, looking for all the world like the world he’d once known. Men in suits with briefcases walking briskly up and down the streets. Families in t-shirts and shorts, taking pictures like any tourists. Taxi cabs faring them back and forth.

So much that was human was still there, but so much was inhuman as well. Even now one of the men in business suits possessed inhuman silver eyes, pearlescent skin, startlingly blue eyes. A vaalian posing as a human. And the buildings… They were skyscrapers still, but not of the old human design. These were made of the same impervious white stone as the palace. Perfect and distant and menacing in their way. But beautiful nonetheless.

And Illyria’s comments about time and space bending took on new meaning as he gazed at the shops. A Starbucks next to a butcher, the GAP and mystical artifacts coexisting side by side. A strange new world where the modern and the ancient both had equal place. It was almost mind-numbing in its strangeness and in its familiarity.

“You gawk as the tourists do,” Illyria teased him lightly.

And suddenly he felt like a tourist. He’d seen the world over, true, but this was just like his first travels. Wonders he’d never imagined before, yet seeing them hadn’t thrown his worldview into disarray as this city had threatened to do in those first moments.

Feeling a bit foolish, he turned his eyes to her, trying to look like he belonged in this new metropolis. Illyria, for her part, looked perfectly at home, walking just like a human and only occasionally glancing to make sure he’d kept up with her.

Two blocks down she hailed a cab, and he had to fight from laughing at the notion. This cabby was going to ferry the bloody _goddess_ of the world around, and he didn’t even know it. There was a delightful little irony to it, a joke that only he got. But then her lips quirked in his direction, and he knew that she got the joke as well, had showed it to him to amuse him.

“The carnival,” she announced from the back of the cab.

Spike sat beside her, watching the city pass by through the windows. He could see now, as they traveled through the neighborhoods, that not all had been rebuilt in Illyria’s image. The downtown was inevitably hers, but as they moved out, they passed areas where the houses were still entirely human. It was a fusion of designs, he could see now, as chaotic as any other city he’d been to. He realized now that his window and its vision of perfection and the ocean beyond was a distortion of the complexity – and sometimes dismal haze – that this city inevitably possessed.

“What’s the carnival?” Spike asked her, curious.

“From out of town?” the cabby guessed. He looked Indian. Pakistani, maybe. And his accent was heavy and difficult to understand. Some things never changed…

“I’m showing him the city,” Illyria agreed, smiling pleasantly – humanly – at their driver.

The high buildings of the city passed, and Spike thought they’d hit the countryside at first, and so soon. But then he realized that this was actually a great park, and the city stretched out still around them on all sides. Not that different from Central Park, really, although that a place with trees like this could exist where bloody _LA_ had once been astounded him. But even the winds and the rains had changed with Illyria’s coming – the sun itself – and apparently now this land was a green paradise.

They got out of the cab at the edge of the park, and Illyria paid the cabby with what looked like the good old paper money from the world before.

He gave her a skeptical look.

“Changing every detail of this world would be…inefficient,” she explained as they walked along a small stone path into the trees. “Many of the primitive human customs work sufficiently without my intervention.”

“So kind of you,” he mumbled sarcastically.

She didn’t turn or react to his comment, but it was obvious she heard. “Does it bring you pleasure to test my patience?” she finally inquired curiously.

“Infinitely so.”

She grinned back at him, and they turned the corner, and Spike saw…

Well, he wasn’t quite sure what he saw. It looked like a Middle Eastern suq crossed with one of Heinrich’s old vampire parties. A carnival, the cab driver had called it. Yeah, he could see that, too, but a bit less of a place for the kiddies and a bit more of the freak show.

“For too long our kind languished in hiding,” Illyria commented thoughtfully.

They’d come upon the fairgrounds from the top of a small hill that surrounded the festivities, and it gave them a good angle to look down on all that surrounded them. Illyria had found she enjoyed looking down upon her subjects. It was something she had never thought about during her Old Kingdom, but then she’d towered over them all in the body she possessed then. This body had its advantages too, however, in that for the first time she could truly mingle with the common people, see the world from both the mortal and divine perspectives. With all her past shape-shifting abilities, it seemed strange to her now that she had never tried to become something small.

“Quite a party.” Spike feigned distaste, but a part of him reveled in the sights below.

Demons and vampires of all sorts out for all eyes to see. Battles of strength and speed and brutal violence as various gladiators faced off in rings throughout the carnival grounds. Even one human girl – an acrobat – doing her precise little routine on a balance beam between two ferocious Glerals. They were chained up tight so that they couldn’t reach the beam itself, but one misstep and she’d be lunch. It seemed to be one of the most popular attractions, all the more so for the real element of death.

Funny how the most common sight for vampires – a mere human corpse – still held the most fascination.

“We are supreme once more,” Illyria announced. “We no longer snivel in caves, concealing our powers – our might – from the light of day. We are kings once more, and we bring our celebration to the world.”

Spike tuned out halfway through her speech when he saw something that finally held his attention. “Oh, thank god, there’s booze.” He headed almost immediately for the vendor that, indeed, was providing the crowd with alcohol. Probably in hopes of getting some of the more dangerous demons drunk enough to make gladiatorial challenges.

Amused, Illyria followed after him. “You enjoy this poison often, it seems,” she commented. Her nose had become quickly adapted to the smell of liquors the previous night, and she barely balked at the scent now.

“Like I said,” he countered, taking a deep swig of beer, “makes the worries go away.”

He left the alcohol kiosk with surprisingly few objections, much to her surprise. Apparently, ‘getting sloshed’ hadn’t been his goal.

“We will watch the human,” Illyria decided, taking his arm in hers and dragging him with her before the human girl and the two Glerals.

The creatures looked half-starved, and all the more vicious for it. Great snarling beasts that walked on all fours with fangs three inches long and heads wider than the human body. Scaly, gnarly hides with spines completed their ferocious appearance. Spike had once had to kill one of the things that had wandered its way into his crypt back in Sunnyhell. Not a pretty picture…

“You see the beam she walks,” Illyria commented, apparently fascinated by the dancer. “Death on all sides, yet the mortal prevails.”

“They’re stubborn creatures,” Spike agreed.

“As are those made from human revenants,” Illyria countered with a quirk of her lips.

He grinned. “You like me for my stubbornness, luv,” he accused lightly.

“Indeed.”

They watched for some time, and Spike couldn’t help but be entranced. A part of him still ached for the hunt, the blood, the kill. And this little girl with her black hair tied back in a tight bun exposing her throat and her graceful little feet just barely escaping death time and time again fascinated him. It was like watching the moment before the kill, the final sensation of victory but not quite completion, that perfect anticipation. Except this girl stretched it out longer and longer, seemingly to eternity, so that her audience was practically drunk on it.

Of course, other parts of him were revolted that he should find such a routine so appealing. What was that Buffy had always railed on about, how potential deaths were just as bad as the rest of it and all that rot? _That_ girl had been obsessed, almost to the point of insanity, fretting each and every night that maybe there was _something_ out there that she hadn’t killed, and it _might_ kill one of her precious innocents if she went home, took a break, got some much-needed sleep.

He hadn’t understood that entirely, even when he’d had the soul, although he’d been more convinced than ever then that she was the one true path to what was right and good. Funny how the soul was supposed to give him his own path, but it had just bound him to her all the more tightly. It had been that way with Angelus, too, he now remembered. Trapped within some vision of human perfection and light. Only natural that it would take the form of the Slayer.

A deep pain struck at his gut as it always did in these situations, and he suddenly felt queasy.

Illyria seemed to sense that something was suddenly amiss in him, because she turned back to look at him, concern written on her features.

He shook her off, insisting he was just going to go get himself another drink. The fact that she let him out of arm’s reach even for this quick task told him she understood how he was debilitated from within more than he’d ever believed she _could_ understand.

He ended up leaning back against an ice cream stand – something for the demon kiddies, after all – fighting to catch his unneeded breath and calm the blood racing violently through his veins. He could see that first night again in vivid color…

Illyria emerging from her temple, her army in her wake. Wes’ body bleeding all over the cool tiles. Angel exploding in dust. And then her hands on him, throwing him across the room, knocking him out with a blow. The blackness and then…

Imprisonment. So many years of imprisonment.

He consciously managed to slow his breathing, and the memories retreated once more. Not so painful now, nor so vivid. They had cleared his mind again, however, as if a haze had been lifted.

This was his chance, he suddenly realized. That moment of safety and solitude in which he could contact the Resistance and at least let them know why he’d been scarce as of late. And, at the same time, convince himself that he still stood strong beside them, perhaps.

With a fortifying sigh, he breathed out that bloody ridiculous code word. “Unicorn…” He looked around nervously to make sure no one saw him. Funny that getting caught with Harmony’s frilliness rated more dangerous in his mind than handing over information to the Resistance in the middle of Illyria’s big fair did. Oh yeah, his priorities had definitely gotten skewed…

“You!” was the surprised reply when the sounds of the Resistance war room slowly came into hearing range around Spike.

He found a small mirror tacked to the lavatory door outside the food stand, and it was enough for him to see the Resistance leader’s face. “Surprised you, Danny-boy?” Spike asked sarcastically, pulling out a cigarette and letting it dangle from his lips.

“Communication within the Palace is—”

“Dead,” Spike finished for him. “Dear old Kirazi shook things up, and now I can’t even get the bloody television to work right what with all the security measures they’ve got…”

Dan sighed, running his hands through his short brown hair. “We’d noticed the problem.”

“Big Blue says she’s got scans runnin’ all through the city. Must muck things up for you.” Spike lit his cigarette and took a deep drag of it.

“We’re… _compensating_ ,” Dan replied vaguely.

“Oh?” Spike raised an eyebrow.

Dan’s frown increased. “Where are you?”

“Some big carnival in the center of town.” Spike shrugged.

“Shit!”

Spike watched with bemusement as the man on the other end swore and started shouting to someone in the background.

“Do you have any idea how tight security’s gotten?” Dan hissed at him.

“Given that ‘ve been scanned a total of fifteen times today?” Spike retorted sarcastically.

Dan sighed. “They could screen the carnival any minute now.”

“Yeah, well, ‘m lucky I got out this far…”

“Still deep on the inside, huh?” Dan’s brow furrowed as he weighed the importance of future information against the potential of getting caught. “Look, I can’t mention any details, but…we need to find a way to get a regular live contact in to see you.”

Spike snorted. “Good luck. You have any idea how impossible it is to—” He froze in mid-sentence when he spotted Illyria searching for him through the crowd. “Her Highness is lookin’ for me,” he warned.

Dan thought quickly. “Can you find some way to get a visitor?”

Spike frowned. “Possibly. Won’t it seem suspicious, though, if I—?”

“Harmony,” Dan alighted on the solution.

“Point. No one would ever bother to suspect her.”

“Do it,” Dan agreed.

The image in the mirror vanished as did the auditory transmissions.

 _Well, that was abrupt…_ Spike sighed. One would think that chatting it up with his allies would’ve encouraged him. To tell the truth, it just made things worse knowing what a tough time they were having of this all. He supposed he should’ve known better; after all, Illyria had the most power mages in the world working for her. But his optimism about the whole affair was fading rapidly…

The timing was good, however, because at that moment Illyria spotted him. With five purposeful strides, she was before him, her confidence – even in this human guise – clearing a path before her.

“You have been absent for an extended period, yet you have acquired no beverage,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“Just takin’ a bit of a breather,” he insisted, pushing himself back off of the wall he’d been leaning on.

Deceptively human blue eyes scrutinized him, and for an instant he thought he could see their true alien form. “You are disturbed,” she finally concluded.

“If you’re plannin’ on sending me to the palace shrink…”

“Distressed,” she corrected, cutting him off. “Something troubles you.” One hand rose to brush against his cheek. “Identify the problem, and I shall destroy it.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. And then gulp at the soft, pleased smile she gave him in response. “Old memories,” he whispered, feeling as though he owed her some sort of explanation.

“One who has died?” she inquired curiously.

“Something like that.”

She considered him for a moment, leaning in close, inhaling the scent of his skin. “Your eyes burn of salt, yet you do not surrender…”

“Can the poetics,” he retorted gruffly, pulling back.

“You welcomed my embrace earlier,” she pointed out.

“True enough.” He shrugged his shoulders, straightening his duster and stepped back into the milling crowd.

“You are acting irrationally once more.”

“You tend to bring that out in me, pet,” he snorted.

“You are confused.”

“You’re just figuring this out now?”

She caught his arm, halting him in his steps. “Confusion is pointless. I am Illyria. You are my En U’Eliq. That is all that matters.”

“Maybe ‘s that simple for _you_ ,” he retorted, his lip curling. “But the rest of us don’t just forget because you say so.”

“I am goddess,” she insisted. “My word is reality.”

“Yeah,” he sighed wearily, the fight going out of him. “In your reality, you’re right.”

Her hand returned cautiously to his cheek. “I do not comprehend your reality,” she admitted hesitantly. “A world in which the divine are not infallible is chaos.”

“That’s life.”

“Hmm…” She thought for a moment. “I disagree. But if it matters in your world, had I to go back and begin again, I would…hesitate to kill them. For your sake, although it is dubious at best as to whether you would be better off.”

He looked at her quizzically. “That an apology?” he demanded.

She gave him an enigmatic smile – “Gods do not apologize.” – and returned to the carnival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was permanently abandoned back in 2004. The reason why is [here](http://kantayra.livejournal.com/283920.html). An outline of what the final chapters would have looked like is [here](http://www.livejournal.com/users/kantayra/283615.html).


End file.
